


Building Castles In The Sky

by treepyful (treeperson)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Clint Barton, Children, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Homophobia, Hospitalization, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Laura Barton, Off-Stage Violence, Pregnancy, Queerplatonic Relationships, but I won't tag them properly because that's a cruel tease to tag followers, hints of Natasha/Pepper and Nick/Phil, mixed-orientation relationship, so much casual affection gosh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeperson/pseuds/treepyful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Clint and Laura Barton's relationship through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building Castles In The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for more explicit content warnings.
> 
> This entire fic came out of two completely unrelated ideas: 1) the “aro ace/arrow ace” pun, because, c’mon, that’s too perfect to pass up, and 2) I fucking love Laura Barton. 21K words later… *jazz hands* I’ve been writing this since June of 2015. It is a labour of love that I am nonetheless very pleased to have finally finished. The canon I’m using here is a hideous combination of 616 (old stuff, retconned stuff, and new stuff), MCU, and personal headcanons so I hope it’s come together into something comprehensible.
> 
> I tried to be consistent with Clint’s hearing/accurate with the ASL included, but I am not D/deaf and as such, may have fucked up. Apologies in advance.
> 
> Thank you to Beetle for ace-picking my Clint, and for humouring non-sequitur questions on whether Americans call them "housecoats" or "bathrobes".

“Laura?”

Clint’s voice echoed through the night, ricocheting around the pasture and bouncing off the trees lining the edge. He was panting slightly, flushed from his run across the cow-plop-studded field and twitchy at every whisper of leaves in the wind. “Laura?” he yelled again, trying his best to let the air carry his voice. “Where y’at?”

He knew he was in the right field - the field with the big oak on the southwest corner, the field the crows avoid ‘cause ol’ McPherson killed one nine years ago and hung it on a pole in the middle and everyone knows crows don’t forget. This field was the last place he saw Laura, just about a year ago, when she’d taken off from the troupe with a rube and the intent to get married or something, and this field was the place she told him to meet her when she’d called his roach pit of an apartment a few hours ago, stress and tears and resignation and fury in her voice. He’d broken every speed limit he knew of on the drive over and wished he could pick her up at her doorstep without putting her in more danger from her fuckwit of a hick of a husband.

He spun on his heel, straining eyes and ears for any sign of movement. Nothing but the wind rustling the grass, the lowing of cows on the next farm, the quiet hum of mosquitoes. Then - _there_. Squinting, he could make out a faint smear in the night, bobbing along in a very familiar loping run. He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a short blast of sound and the shape changed direction slightly, aiming more directly for him. Laura came into view, all flapping skirts and tangled hair and wide eyes. A stuffed-full rucksack hung from her side, bouncing against her hip as she ran, and it wrapped around Clint’s back when she threw herself at him in a running hug.

Clint stumbled back a step with an “oof” but managed not to fall over, holding Laura firmly even as she hooked her knees around his hips. “Hey, Bean.”

“Hey, Bear.” Her voice was strained, her breath puffing against his neck, her ribcage heaving with exertion and fear and who knows what else.

“You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

Laura released her legs and Clint lowered her to the ground, keeping his hands on her shoulders, needing a point of contact and figuring she wanted the same thing. She rested her forehead against his chest and he pressed a long kiss into her crown, ignoring the hairs tickling his nose.

“Yeah. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said into his shirt, then twisted her head around sharply. “He’s coming, that was the screen door. Gotta boogie, bird boy.” She grabbed his hand and started at a fast trot to the truck Clint had left on the side of the road.

“Christ, Laura,” Clint muttered, following her and checking repeatedly over his shoulder for a glimpse of her maniacal husband. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?”

“I should’ve called you earlier. He got _real_ pissed a couple hours ago and chased me out - seems I’m getting a little rusty, Hawkeye.”

Clint abruptly stopped running and tugged Laura to him, jolting her against him as he started patting her down, firmly feeling her ribs and tilting her head up so he could scan her face. “Are you hurt? Did that fucking bastard touch you, so help me god Laura -”

“No, I’m fine, he just grabbed my arm and shook me a bit, but I gave him one in the nuts and ran, let’s just scram, boy -- no, Clint!” He’d dropped his hands and turned back towards the field, towards the little shack on the other side of the treeline where Laura had spent the last year terrified and brutalized and Clint hadn’t been able to _help_ , goddamnit, and he was going to make that anal ulcer of a human being pay for this --

“No no no, Clint, c’mon, let’s go, he’s got a damn gun and he’s drunk off his gourd, let’s _go_.” Laura leaned backwards with all her weight, pulling on Clint’s wrist to little effect. “Move your ass, caveman - getting out of here is as much saving as I need, don’t need you to beat ‘im up too, thanks.”

Clint took a deep breath and stopped, staring off into the field. There was grumbling and yelling coming from a single point near the trees and Jesus, he wanted to beat the ever lovin’ crap out the piece of shit making those noises. But he relented, turning back to the road and picking up his jog again, Laura by his side, until they reached the rust bucket of a pickup that had his name on the pink slip.

Clint peeled the truck away from the edge of the field, gravel scattering into the air and pinging off the telephone pole. A shot rang out from the field, then another, followed by faraway cursing and yelling, but Laura just stuck her head out the window and laughed, long and loud, until Clint yanked her back in by the back of her shirt.

“He has a _shotgun_ , Laura, keep your fucking head in the truck, fuck, oh my god.”

Laura just let out another peal of laughter, this one edging into ‘demented’ territory. “Those were his only shots. I chucked the rest of the box down the well and he didn’t notice because he’s a DRUNK FUCK.” She screamed those last two words out the window, then slumped against the back of the seat, clutching her bag to her chest.

The truck swung around a corner, blasting by the crooked stop sign. “How’re you going to divorce him, Laura? He’s fucking nutso - he won’t let you go without a fight, will he?” Clint was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, the muscles on his forearms standing out starkly, and his gaze kept flicking to the rearview mirror. “And he’ll kill you.”

Laura was rustling through her bag, pulling out bits of paper and tarot cards and items of clothing and tossing them to her feet. “Doesn’t matter. Y’know how he’s one of these anti-government, ‘they’re trying to take my guns’ types?” Clint nodded, confused. “Well, we didn’t actually get married according to the state. In a church, yeah, because Jesus cares about us livin’ in sin,” she said, a mocking tone clear in her steadying voice as she flourished the scarf she was yanking from the bag, “but not by the state. We were never legally married, so no divorce needed. The fucker -- aha!” 

She triumphantly held up a thick wad of cash, folded in two and held together with an elastic band. “Retribution! He’d take my wages, then hide the money in the toilet tank because banks are evil, and then he thinks I don’t know about it? As if, Jesus.” She glanced up at Clint, a smile growing steadily on her lips. “Think a whole year’s pay in hundreds’ll keep me afloat for a while?”

Clint gaped at her, taking his eyes off the road for long enough that she grabbed the side of steering wheel and turned it slightly. Then he whooped, loudly enough that Laura jumped, and he pulled her along the bench seat of the truck, laughing and kissing her temple and crushing her in a one-armed hug. “Holy shit, you crazy woman. What am I going to do with you?”

“We’ll figure something out,” she replied, leaning into him and unfolding the wad of money, counting the bills. “We always do.”

 

* * *

 

“Can I help you?”

Laura approached the tall half-circle counter that was the emergency room reception, anxiety radiating out from her very pores as she gripped the strap of her bag with white knuckles. Her hair was back in a roughshod ponytail, her clothes rumpled and slept in, but her eyes were wide with some barely contained emotion. The question from the nurse behind the desk startled her into replying.

“Um, yes. Someone called me about my brother?” she ventured, craning her neck to look over the counter at the nurse. “He was shot or something.”

“His name?” The nurse clicked a few times at the computer mouse.

“Louis Sparrow,” Laura answered. The nurse’s lips pursed slightly and Laura sighed. “Should I apologize for his behaviour already? Damn. He doesn’t like hospitals much. Hates being laid up.”

“A common ailment among men, I find,” the nurse replied, raising a knowing eyebrow at Laura before pointing down the hallway to the left. “He’s in 305 - take the elevators down there and follow the signs.”

Room 305 was a shared room, though the two of the three patients were asleep and there was a fourth bed sitting empty. Clint, on the other hand, was definitely awake and glowering at his lap. A patch of his hair had been shaved, some stitches put into a cut there, and his eye socket was a violent purple colour, and Laura sighed as she came to sit on the edge of his bed.

Clint looked up at her, his expression softening. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I’m in a bit of a sitch.”

“Yes, I noticed. What happened?”

Clint shifted, pulling the sheet away from his waist and exposing his bandage-wrapped thigh. “Got shot.”

Laura peeked at the bandage, scrutinizing it with a completely unprofessional eye, and then scowled at Clint. “I knew that much, dork. They told me over the phone. I more meant ‘how’ and you know it.” She pulled his sheet back over his lap and fussed over tucking in the edges, stretching the blanket sitting at his feet over his legs and arranging it just so.

Clint took a breath and Laura pinpointed the exact moment he decided to lie. “I was pissing in an alley behind this club and there were some guys fighting further down and they musta had guns or something, cuz the next thing I knew I was on the ground with a hole in my thigh.”

“Mmhmm,” Laura murmured, straightening the collar of his gown. “And the black eye? The head wound?”

“I fell funny.”

Laura let out an exasperated huff of breath. “Jesus Christ, Bear. If you’re going to lie, lie better than that, okay? Put some effort into it.” Clint pulled away from her and leaned back against the upright back of the bed. “Is that the BS you told the cops?” He nodded stiffly. “Can you tell me the truth?”

Clint chewed his lip. “I’ve been taking some… less than ideal jobs, Bean.”

Laura paused in her ministrations and gave him a look of extreme patience. “How stupid do you think I am, _Louis_. I know Carson’s left you with you with about as many employable skills as it did me, yet you manage to not only have a half-decent apartment - _without roommates_ \- but also have things like cable. And new shoes.” She gave him a significant look. “And a new bow.”

Clint picked at his cuticles. “Yeah.”

Laura perched on the edge of the bed and twisted into Clint, pressing herself against him in a gentle hug that brought her mouth near his ear. “Have you killed anyone?” she asked quietly.

He laid his forehead on her shoulder. “Don’t be naïve, Laura.”

“M’not. I’m asking you to tell me.”

Clint was quiet for a long moment before he turned his head away, looking out the large window at the end of the room. “Yeah,” he finally managed. “I have.”

Laura closed her eyes and took a deep breath, kissing Clint’s temple before sitting up. “Are you okay with that?”

“No.” He sighed. “No, I’m not. I needed the money, and they were bad people, but so are my, uh, employers. Generally.” Clint flicked his eyes back to Laura when she picked up his hand again. “Pretty much everyone at that level is scum, Laura. Including me.”

Laura massaged the meat of his palm with her thumb, digging deep. “Can you get out?”

“Maybe. There’s been some government goons after me for a while now and I’m not sure why, but I’ll let them recruit me if that’s what they want. Better to be a legal assassin than an illegal one, I think.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Clint snorted, but didn’t respond.

“What’s the plan for getting you out of here?” Laura reached up to pull her hair from its messy ponytail and started separating it into sections, nimble fingers throwing together a braid.

“Been talking with the custodian - apparently the fire door on this floor has a broken alarm. It leads right out to the back parking lot, too. I assume you came in your car, not a cab?”

Laura nodded. “Can you take three flights of stairs with that leg?”

Clint glanced at the crutches leaning against his neighbour’s bed. “Gonna have to.”

“Okay. You’ve still got a contact on antibiotics?” She waved off Clint’s pointed look. “I know, I know, I still have to ask.”

“Of course I’ve got a pills guy, Laura, Jesus. And I’ve got a guy to make me more IDs, because I’m pretty sure this is my last one without either debt collectors or a bounty.”

Laura shook her head slowly, wrapping the elastic around the end of her braid. “You walk a fine, fine line, Mr. Sparrow.”

“I don’t walk any sort of line - I’m clinging to the edge and you know it.”

“Yeah, but I’m here to pull you back, okay?” He gave her a sardonic look and she laughed, covering her mouth and darting looks at the sleeping patients in the room. “Shut up and acknowledge my fluffy sincerity.”

“Yes, yes, love you too, Bean.”

Footsteps, sure and efficient, came down the hallway to stop outside their room, a pair of voices speaking in turn. The door knob shifted slightly, a weight rested against it, and Laura and Clint shared a look. Laura ran her fingers from her ear to her nose in a seemingly absent gesture - _let me talk_ \- and Clint slumped in his bed, feigning sleep almost instantly. 

The door opened and a doctor entered. “You must be Maureen Sparrow?”

Laura stood from the edge of the bed, her hand out to shake and a wary-but-relieved smile in place. “That’s me.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey Bear, how’re things?”

Resting his forehead on the battered table in front of him, Clint let out a watery little laugh and tightened his grip on his beer bottle. “They’ve been better, Bean. They’ve been better.”

A quiet sound of distress came from the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear and Clint closed his eyes against a fresh wave of self-loathing.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Laura sounded so earnestly worried, even through the poor connection of Clint’s shitty landline.

“No, I’m fine, sorry, I’m fine,” he managed, heaving in a breath and lifting his head from the table. “I just… wanted to talk to you. Wait, what time is it?” He twisted in his seat to look at the clock on the stove and winced.

“Clint, is Bobbi there? Is someone there with you? You don’t sound too good.”

Clint bit back a sudden sob, rubbing at his brow with a shaky thumb. “No, Laura. Just you. It’s always just you in the end, innit? You and me.”

Laura was quiet for a long moment and Clint took a drink from his beer. “Where’s Bobbi, Clint?”

“She left.” 

“Left?”

“Me.” The word wobbled. “She left me, Laura.”

“Oh Clint…”

“Second verse, same as the first,” he slurred out, ending with a pathetic little giggle.

Clint drained the rest of the bottle and tossed it into the air, juggler’s baton style, ignoring the flecks of beer that spun out and hit him in the face. He missed catching it on the way down and it thudded dully against the cracked linoleum tabletop, rolling off the edge and smashing to the floor. Clint winced and fumbled at his phone-free ear, pulling out the clunky hearing aid and sliding it across the table with a forceful flick.

Laura, who had made a startled little sound when the bottle broke, recovered and spoke. “When did this happen, Bear? Did you have a fight again? She’ll come back, sweetie - she has a temper, but she comes back.”

“Oh no, no no no, she’s _gone_ , Laurs. She took all her shit and called Carol and she ain’t coming baaaack,” he sing-songed, hiccuping halfway through the last syllable.

“Oh.” Clint could hear Laura thinking, could hear her mind going a mile a minute.

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Dumped my good for nothin’ ass and took off. Left the beer, though.”

“How much have you had?”

“Dunno. A lot.” Clint stood up and walked to the fridge, squawking when the phone cord tangled around his thighs. He caught his balance on the fridge door, then yanked it open in search of another beer.

Bobbi’s leftovers from the night before, when they’d gone out to the steakhouse a few blocks over that she absolutely loved, sat on the top shelf beside the expired mayo and Clint almost started crying again, gasping back a sob and blinking away tears.

“Clint? What happened?”

“Her food. She -- she loves leftover mashed potatoes. Fries them with egg and cheese for breakfast.” He swallowed. “Fuck, think she’ll come back for potatoes, Laura?”

“I couldn’t say, Clint, but--”

“I could just take them to work -- oh fuck!”

“Clint?”

“Oh god, we work together! How’m I going to be able to work with her? Oh fuck, we’re in the same _section_ at SHIELD oh my god, Laura, I have to quit or something.” Clint could feel himself start to hyperventilate, could feel his hand start to shake in the grip it had on the fridge door. “I can’t take that, she’s gonna be there, judging me, telling people about what a fuck up I am, how I’m a robot or something, oh fuck, she’s going to tell them the carrot story, noooo--”

“Clint, Clinty-bear, calm down--”

“--and she’s going to ruin my rep, I can’t be known as that guy who pissed off his wife so much she left him less than a year later, I’m a newbie _and_ divorced _and_ I can’t hear a fucking thing anymore - no one’s ever going to speak to me again, oh my godddd--”

“Clint!”

Clint stopped babbling and rested his head against the freezer door.

“No, Clint, don’t do that. Don’t think like that. You were just telling me the other day about how you think SHIELD’s actually pretty cool, and how the director, uh, Furious, is a bit rude but a solid guy.”

“Fury,” Clint corrected miserably.

“Fury, right. You like it at SHIELD, Clint - do not let this run you away from the first job you’ve actually enjoyed.”

Clint was silent but for the occasional sniffle.

“Bear, listen to me, okay? Listen to what I am saying: none of that is going to happen. None of it. If Bobbi split off from you, okay, that’s one thing, but I know Bobbi and you know Bobbi and Bobbi? Is not an asshole. She isn’t. She may be a lot of things, both good and bad, but she is not an asshole. Right?”

“But--” 

“Right?”

“...Yeah,” Clint breathed out.

“So I will bet my life on the fact that if asked, Bobbi will say that the two of you had irreconcilable differences or something. She’ll be diplomatic. She might show some anger, sure, but she won’t talk shit about you, Clint. Will she?”

“No.”

“Because she’s not an asshole?”

“‘Cause she’s not an asshole.”

“Okay.”

Clint closed the fridge door, beer forgotten, and stared around at the kitchen. It was a mess - dishes in the sink and overflowing onto the counter, newspapers and magazines stacked on chairs, one of Clint’s bows disassembled and midway through a cleaning on the table. He closed his eyes.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“You still have that TV in your bedroom? With the VCR?”

A sad little noise of assent.

“Okay, can you go get your Die Hard tape and put it on in the bedroom?”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to leave your beer in the kitchen and go watch Die Hard in bed. Once you are watching Die Hard in bed, I’ll hang up and make a few other calls and then drive over and I will be there with you before Die Hard is over. Okay?”

“...Okay.”

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

The flashing of the overhead light woke Clint, confused and flailing as he rolled off the sofa and thumped onto the floor. He lay there for a moment, still but for his heaving breath, before he put together what had happened. Sofa. Infomercials. Cheezies. Sweatpants. Sore ribs, wow. Flashing li -- doorbell! 

Shuffling to his feet, Clint stumbled over to the door and leaned his weight into the intercom button. “Whoever you are, go away. I don’t have my ears in and I don’t want to deal with you.”

The light kept flashing. Clint growled and pressed the intercom button again, speaking at what he hoped was a reasonable volume. “Seriously, fuck off. You’re making my living room rave.”

More flashing. Swearing furiously, Clint yanked open his door and stormed down the stairs to the building entrance, slamming the security door open with no small amount of force. "What the fu--"

But his words were cut off when he saw the pathetic rain-soaked figure in front of him, huddling beneath the patchy excuse for an awning, water dripping from the baseball cap perched on their head and falling onto a hilariously weather-inappropriate jacket. The figure tilted their head up and looked at him with puffy, watery, familiar brown eyes.

"Laura? 

He saw her mouth form “Hi Clint.”

Clint stood there, staring, for a good five seconds before he snapped to, backing away from the doorframe to give her access. “Get in out the rain, oh my god,” he said, flustered, tugging her into the entrance by her arm. Laura’s jacket was drenched and water welled up around his gripping fingers to drip to the cracked concrete floor.

“What are you doing here?” Laura opened her mouth to respond and Clint cut her off. “Hands, Bean - got no ears in.” 

Laura pursed her lips, then slowly, haltingly, made the signs for _no (more)_ and _home_ and Clint could’ve cried.

“Well, shit. Come upstairs and get dry and tell me what happened.” Clint took Laura’s backpack from her shoulder and led her up to his apartment. He left her to fight with her soggy shoes while he sifted through the junk on his coffee table to find his hearing aids, discarded there earlier in the night.

“You were watching infomercials without sound at two in the morning? Really, Clint?” Laura said once she saw Clint could hear her again.

Clint snorted and came over to help peel her clingy jacket off. “No, I fell asleep watching The A-Team reruns without sound.” At her pointed look, he smiled. “You so don’t need sound to watch A-Team reruns, Bean. You heard one episode, you heard ‘em all.” He disappeared into his tiny bathroom with her dripping coat and re-emerged with a towel.

“So what happened?” He chucked the towel at her head and walked over to close the window, swearing quietly at the puddle of water that had formed on the floor beneath it.

“The landlord figured out that Keesha and I weren’t just roommates.”

“Aw fuck.”

“Yeah.” Laura stripped off her shirt and dropped it with a sodden plop to the laminate, shortly followed by her bra, before tucking her hair into the towel. “So he kicked us out. Came burstin’ in, all ‘heathens and hell spawn’ at us, and threatened to shoot us if we didn’t get off his property, blah blah blah. So,” she shrugged her shoulders in a nonchalant way that Clint saw right through, “we grabbed our shit and booked it in Keesha’s car.”

Clint snagged the blanket from the couch, his favourite purple throw, and wrapped it around Laura’s shivering body, pulling her into a hug at the same time. “Fuck, Bean, that’s so shitty. I’m so sorry.”

Laura buried her nose in the collar of Clint’s ratty tee shirt and heaved a shaky sigh. “Thanks.” He squeezed her tighter and kissed her head through the towel.

“So where’s Keesha?”

Laura let out a watery little laugh and Clint’s heart sank. “Oh, she’s gone.” She sniffled slightly and Clint closed his eyes, tightening his arms around her. “Dropped me off at the bus stop and told me that I’d be fine on the streets because I grew up in the circus. I think she went to her parents’ place in Vermont.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. I didn’t see that one coming.”

Clint unwrapped the towel from Laura’s head and used the corner to wipe water drops from her brow and cheeks. “Well, if the great Hawkeye can miss the occasional shot,” and Laura gasped mockingly, so he stuck a finger in her ear and smiled at the resulting squeal, “then the great Camille Von Hart can be off her predictive game, too.” He scrubbed her hair dry with quick, rough movements. “Though, I’d stick to costume making if I were you - more of a solid client base.”

“I’ll work on that,” Laura responded dryly. Clint just smiled at her and hung the towel over her shoulders.

“D’you want food? I’ve got some leftover macaroni casserole in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Laura shook her head. “No, I just want to sleep. Sweet oblivion and all that, y’know?” She met Clint’s eyes and he smiled at her sadly.

“Yeah, I know. C’mon, let’s go to bed.” 

Clint picked up her wet clothes and walked to the bedroom, hanging the shirt over his door and the bra on the handle, then dug through the clean laundry in the basket on the floor. “I haven’t washed the sheets in a bit, so sorry in advance,” he said as he chucked a tee shirt and pair of boxer briefs over his shoulder at Laura, who let them fall to the floor at her feet. She unwrapped herself from the blanket, tossed it to the bed, and started peeling off her drenched jeans, wincing at the unpleasant squelchy sounds they made.

“Honestly, so long as they’re not literally crusted over with come, I do not care right now.” With the jeans over the door and the underwear on the other side of the door knob, she slipped into Clint’s dry clothes.

“Ew. Fuck, Laura.”

She shrugged and looked down at her hands, hunching her shoulders. “I’m too bushed to care about your fucking sheets, Clint.” 

“Okay.”

Thunder rumbled outside, rattling the pane of glass in the bedroom window. 

“You cool if I take out my ears? I won’t be able to sleep with them in.” Laura just waved a hand at him vaguely as she climbed onto the futon bed and straightened the blankets out enough to fit under them.

He joined her and they lay on their sides facing one another, parenthetically enclosing their clasped hands. Clint said nothing about Laura’s wet cheeks or her gasps of breath, waiting for her to decide she wanted his attention.

Lightning lit up the dark room and Clint counted the one-one-thousands until Laura flinched. Six miles away. 

He stayed awake until she stopped flinching.

 

* * *

 

They met in a Denny’s at three in the morning. Laura was just getting off her night shift at the hotel laundry, and Clint was still running on Thailand time, so it was a surprisingly ideal time to see each other.

“Are you still dating Ursula?”

Clint chewed on his pancake thoughtfully, squinting at Laura. “No, not for a while. I’m with Jason now.”

“Oh? How d’you know him?” She stole a tater tot from his side plate, dodging his defensive stabs.

“Work. That’s how I know everyone I know, Laura.” He dipped a square of pancake into the syrup pooled on his plate. “Well, ‘cept you.” He gave her a winning grin.

“‘Cept me,” she parrotted, resting her chin on her fist. “What’s he like?”

“Well, he was voted ‘Hottest Newbie’ by SHIELD locker room gossip, so, y’know.” Clint made finger guns at her. Laura rolled her eyes.

“Is it… appropriate to be going through your coworkers like this, Bear? Ain’t you going to cause issues?”

Clint shrugged. “I’m definitely getting a rep, that’s for sure, but I don’t think it’s hurting me at all.” He swirled his straw around his glass of orange juice absently, watching the mini whirlpool it made. “Just looking for the right person, y’know?”

“You think you’ll find them at SHIELD?”

“Gonna have to. Don’t have the time to meet anyone else, or the security clearance to bring them home with me.”

Laura rolled her eyes and took a bite of toast. “Well, as long as you’re happy, I guess.” She caught the twitch in his face and frowned. “Clint?”

He grunted in response, shoving more pancake into his mouth as he avoided her eyes.

“Clint, seriously, what?”

It took him a moment to chew and swallow, but he eventually responded, tapping the tines of his fork against his plate absently.

“I dunno, it’s just sometimes… I think there’s something wrong with me. I’m pretty sure there is, even. Maybe Pa was right or something, that I’m defective.”

“Oh, Clint, no. Of course not--”

Clint pointed at her with his fork, cutting her off. “How do you know? Really, Laura, how do you know?” He waited, but she just looked at him. “I fucking -- I bounce from relationship to relationship and I never know _why_ I’m with that person instead of someone else, like there’s no difference between them all, and I think it shows because it always, always, ends one of two ways: either they leave me because they say there’s something missing, or I leave them because I can see that they’re going to say there’s something missing.

“And when you hear that enough times, from enough people, well. Maybe I am missing something. Maybe I don’t feel the right things. Maybe I’m trying too hard to make up for whatever that is and it’s putting them all off. Or maybe, I dunno, maybe I just can’t connect with people the way they want me to.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, and dropped his gaze to his plate and the sadly mangled pancake it contained. “Maybe I can’t love people right.”

Laura considered him, tilting her head to the side. “You love me, you dolt. I haven’t left you and I won’t, come hell or high water.”

Clint snorted. “You’re a special case, Bean.”

“But one that proves you wrong. You love me, yeah?”

“Of course I do.”

“So you can love people right. Maybe, maybe you’ve got some figuring out to do in the romance department, that’s possible.” She held up her hands defensively at his betrayed look. “We never went that way, I have no first hand experience to draw on. However - Clint, you love good. You’re _good_ at loving, that I know for a fact. And if none of those fools out there can see that? It’s their loss, okay?”

She stretched her hand out over the table and Clint stared at it until she wiggled her fingers, then placed his in it and squeezed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Working out some of the finer details of who you are and how you are is one thing, but it doesn’t mean you’re defective. Your pa was an idiot who didn’t know the first thing about you and you’ll do better to never take his words seriously.”

Clint hung his head and Laura reached up to brush his bangs away from his eyes, running her fingers down his temple affectionately. He tilted his face into her touch slightly and her heart just about broke. 

“Clint--” she started, but was interrupted by the arrival of their waitress. Plates removed and coffee refilled, Laura watched Clint recompose himself, scrubbing his hand through his hair and roughly over his face.

Clearing his throat, Clint picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Got a new handler,” he said. “Dedicated one, even.”

“Oh yeah?” Laura slowly sat back in her chair, accepting the subject change for the avoidance it was.

“Yeah. He has a couple assets, but I only have to deal with him now. He’s good, too.”

“Have you worked with him before?”

Clint nodded, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. “Yeah, a couple times. He’s run a few ops that I’ve sat in on, too. Name’s Coulson.”

Laura slowly shook her head, not recognizing the name. “And you like him?”

“So far. He’s quiet and practical and dry humoured and not super anal about paperwork and he lets me use my _bow_ , oh my god, I’m so tired of handlers forcing me on guns.”

“Good. Just don’t sleep with him and you should be fine,” Laura said, blowing bubbles in her milk through her straw.

Clint grinned wickedly.

“...No, Clint.”

“What?”

“No, I’m not even going to get into this. Do _not_ sleep with your direct superior please, oh my god.”

“But he looks damn good in a suit.”

“So does Tony Stark, but I don’t see you fucking him!”

“I don’t have access to Tony Stark, Laura.”

“Ugh, thank fucking god. Can you imagine if you two were in the same room together? You’d get on like a house on fire. End up drunk in a pile of rubble, I swear.”

“Aw, I know you love me.”

Laura ripped off the end of the paper on her extra straw and puffed down it, pinging the wrapper into Clint’s squawking face.

“For some ungodly reason, yeah, I do.”

 

* * *

 

 _Click_.

“Hey Laura-bean.”

“Hi Clint.”

“How’s things? I don’t have another mission for at least a few weeks and I thought I’d make a nest on your couch for a bit.”

“Sure. You can share the bed, though.”

“Uh... Charlotte?”

“Gone.”

“Why?”

“Pregnant.”

“...Wow.”

“Yup.”

“Pregnant?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Look, I realise we’ve only had sex once and I was fifteen at the time, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember if you had the right equipment to get your future girlfriend pregnant.”

“Yup.”

“So, whose is it?”

“Her coworker’s.”

“Fuck.”

“Apparently they did.”

“You okay?”

“Been okayer.”

“...I’ll be there in an hour.”

“The tequila’s waiting.”

_Click._

 

* * *

 

"Do you think that the new manager will be worth the air he breathes?” Laura tugged on her jacket and slung her purse over her shoulder. "Or at least better than Ryans is?”

Ana snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the locker bank. "I don't think so, no. Just another man to tell us how to wash the sheets even though he's never touched a laundry basket in his life.”

"Ha, probably," Laura agreed, slamming her locker shut and turning to Ana with a nod. They walked to the exit together, exchanging a few goodbyes with the other women at their lockers.

The sun was shining when they stepped outside and they simultaneously tilted their faces up into the light. "Honestly,” Laura said, a slight smile on her face, "as long as he gives us our schedules more than a week ahead of time and keeps his hands to himself, he'll be a hell of a lot better than Ryans.”

Ana nods slowly and hums, pursing her lips. "You speak the truth, honey.”

A shrill whistle, lilting and oddly staccato, sounded behind them. Laura whipped around, her eyes wide, but Ana tugged her forward.

“Go away, _niño_. We're not interested,” Ana called, not even turning her head to look where the whistle came from. She linked her arm through Laura’s and continued down the sidewalk. Laura resisted, covering Ana’s hand with her own.

“No, no, Ana, it’s okay, that’s my friend, that's Clint. He's calling me.”

“Calling you?” Ana relaxed her grip slightly.

“Yeah, that’s our whistle.” Laura turned to smile at Clint, who was still half a block away and tugging a young dog along on a leash, and whistled back the same discordant little tune. “Not that he can hear me when I do it,” she added with a shrug, tilting her head at Ana.

Ana snorted. “This the deaf one?” She narrowed her eyes as he came closer. “Oh, it’s _him_ , isn’t it? The one with the baby? And you say there is nothing to tell.” She laughed knowingly and patted Laura’s arm. “You go see your ‘friend’ man and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Laura just rolled her eyes and waved Ana off. “See you tomorrow.”

Almost dragged behind an extremely enthusiastic dog, Clint presented himself in front of Laura fairly quickly. She didn’t even bother to try to hide her amusement.

“Ugh, hi -- oh god,” Clint managed, stumbling to a stop as Lucky launched himself at Laura. “Yes, boy, she’ll pet you. Christ.”

“Hi Lucky, yes, hello, oh my god.” Laura crouched down in front of the dog, laughing as he licked her face and wiggled against her, his tail wagging furiously. “Obviously you remember me, you goof.”

“He’s a fan, apparently.” Clint blew out a breath and pushed his free hand through his hair. “Lucky, stop.”

Laura squealed as Lucky shoved his wet nose into her neck and she pushed his snuffling and snorting face away. "Good heavens, Lucky. At least buy me dinner first.” Clint covered his face with his hand and Laura cackled.

“You friend didn’t have to leave.” Clint pressed down on Lucky’s rump, forcing him into a sit. “I’d’ve liked to meet her.”

Laura shook her head as she stood. “No, she’s not a fan of men she doesn’t know. Avoids ‘em.”

“Ah.”

“She does, however, think that we’re an item.”

Clint let out a startled laugh. “What? She came up with that in the twenty seconds she saw me?” He pressed a quick ‘hello’ kiss to her cheek, then stuck out his elbow for Laura to hook her arm into, and they started down the street, Lucky straining at the end of his leash. “Doesn’t she know you’re gay?”

“Maybe? Probably. I’m not shy about it at work - the girls don’t care and they’d never tell management.” Laura shrugged. “But yeah, I put that picture of you with David’s baby up in my locker and now everyone thinks I have a secret baby and baby-daddy, even with my chronic case of the gay.”

“Wait, seriously?” Clint looked astounded, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “That photo of me and David _Ishikawa’s_ baby, Amelia _Ishikawa_?”

Laura laughed. “Yep. They’ve got all these theories about adoptions or wonky genetics or something, I dunno - I’ve been ignoring it, mostly. I tried to ask once but Ana just laughed and said something in Spanish that I didn’t understand, but I’m pretty sure she was making fun of me.”

"That's fucking hilarious.”

"I'm glad you think so. Especially since now Ana's seen you and she's one of the biggest gossips on our shift. There'll be rumours flying tomorrow, for sure.”

Clint had a vaguely guilty look on his face. "Should I not've waited outside the hotel? I don't want to cause you any issues.”

Laura waved her hand dismissively. "No, no, it's no problem. It's mostly good-hearted teasing mixed with some legitimate curiosity. It doesn't bother me.”

“Well, okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

They paused while Lucky laboriously sniffed every inch of a bus stop bench, straining on the end of his leash. Laura leaned heavily on Clint’s arm, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. He tilted his head at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Tired, is all. Rough couple weeks at work.”

“Wanna tell me about it? I was thinking we could go to that little restaurant over by the park, that one near the fountain? They’d let Lucky in and we could sit on the patio, get some sun. But if you’re too tired, we could just go back to yours.” He frowned, looking uncomfortable. “I could make you food or something. Sorry for just showing up. Shoulda called first.”

“Pssh,” Laura scolded, waving her hand absently. “Like you need to call, Bear. Though if you’re feeling guilty, I’m not going to say no to you treating me to a meal. Something garlicky. With wine.”

Clint laughed and tugged Lucky away from the bench. “Garlic and wine. I think we can manage that.”

 

* * *

 

_Ping._

A grunt emerged from the depths of the pillow. A second _ping_ , the “you have a text waiting” ping that always sounded slightly more alarmed than the first ping ever did, went off thirty seconds later and the grunt morphed into a groaning sigh. Laura sat up in bed, pushing her tangled snarl of hair out of her face as she glared at the bedside table and the little plastic brick that sat on top of it.

 _PING_.

There were only three people who had her cellphone number and who would bother texting her: her boss, her girlfriend, and Clint. Only one of those would text her this early in the morning, because he’s an idiot who didn’t understand that not everyone has a fucked up sleep schedule.

_Bear: so_  
_Bear: theres a pride parade on my street_

Laura rolled her eyes and tapped out a response.

_Bean: theres a parade at 7am? sue the city_

The phone pinged again almost immediately after she set it down, but she ignored it in favour of wrapping a housecoat around herself. Shuffling to the kitchen corner of the single room apartment, she leaned her hip on the counter as she read the texts.

_Bear: well no_  
_Bear: the parade was yesterday_  
_Bear: but its more than just a parada_  
_Bear: its a whole THING_  
_Bear: with like tables and pamflets_

_Bean: did you hook up?_

_Bear: no_

_Bean: boo_

She started the coffee maker and grabbed a dish towel to wipe the condensation from the window, smiling as the weak rays of morning sun peeked through. 

_Ping._

_Bear: have you heard of asexuality?_

Laura frowned.

_Bean: no? well, kinda. like plants?_  
_Bean: i remember someting from jeopardy_

_Bear: no not plants_  
_Bear: its like_  
_Bear: not stright, not gay, not bi, not anything_  
_Bear: not attracted at all_  
_Bear: thats what the person at the table said_

_Bean: huh i didnt know that was a thing_

_Bear: right?_  
_Bear: thing is, tho_  
_Bear: i think i mite be_

_Bean: you think you might be asexual?_

_Bear: mabe_  
_Bear: i dunno_  
_Bear: it makes sense, kinda_

_Bean: dude you’ve slept with basically all of shield_  
_Bean: you chase tail worse than a dog_  
_Bean: how does that make sense?_

_Bear: ya but its_  
_Bear: ok_  
_Bear: i dont think i know what sexual attraction is?_  
_Bear: like i have no idea_  
_Bear: how would you descibe it?_

_Bean: sexual attraction?_

_Bear: ya_

_Bean: um_  
_Bean: warmth? i guess_  
_Bean: i see a woman on the street and she’s pretty and i get all warm and tingly_  
_Bean: or, uh, floaty? light feeling. maybe a little wild, too_  
_Bean: and it’s really distracting. my attention all goes to her and how she makes me feel_  
_Bean: i dunno, im not describing this very well_

_Bear: see i don’t think ive EVER felt that_  
_Bear: or anything even kinda like that_

_Bean: never?_

_Bear: no_  
_Bear: i know what other people find attractive_  
_Bear: and ive been imitating them?_  
_Bear: like, oh they think shes hot, so i shuld sleep with her because they think shes hot_  
_Bear: because sleeping with hot people is what you do_  
_Bear: but i dont know what i find hot_  
_Bear: theres no tingles around anyone_  
_Bear: not even fucking bobbi, who i MARRYED ffs_

_Bean: oh_

_Bear: ya_  
_Bear: and ive always kinda known that, i guess_  
_Bear: but i thought i was just broken or something_  
_Bear: like i always liked women and men the same amount so i though i was bi_  
_Bear: even if that liking wasnt really sexual_  
_Bear: but im thinking now that mabe im just not attracted to anyone_  
_Bear: literally anyone_  
_Bear: (wich still means im attracted to women and men the same amount haha)_  
_Bear: and mabe that means what ive been missing in all my relationships is actual goddamn attraction?_  
_Bear: and thats a normal thing if youre asexual_  
_Bear: so ya_  
_Bear: i dunno_

_Bean: oh fuck, clint_  
_Bean: thats huge_

_Bear: i kno_  
_Bear: im freaking out_  
_Bear: fuck_  
_Bear: and love_  
_Bear: love love_  
_Bear: romantic love_  
_Bear: i dont know what that feels like_

_Bear: i think i just know what i think it is_  
_Bear: or what people have told me to think it is_  
_Bear: laura i dont think i kno what romantic love feels like jesus christ_  
_Bear: is that a thing to?_  
_Bear: i dont think i felt any different for bobbi than i do for you_  
_Bear: and no offense but i kno im not in love with you_

_Bean: none taken you dork_

_Bear: youre the dork_  
_Bear: but ya_  
_Bear: ive been awake all nite thinking about this can you tell_

_Bean: i can tel youre sleep deprived_

_Bear: fuck off_  
_Bear: im pretty sure i scared the person at the booth yesterday_  
_Bear: i was pretty intense and asked 1000 questions_  
_Bear: so im being serious, bean_

_Bean: sorry_  
_Bean: i guess i just dont know what to say_

_Bear: i dont either_  
_Bear: i feel weird_

_Bean: good weird?_

_Bear: i dunno_  
_Bear: like i just found a secret room in a house or something_  
_Bear: surprised and a little pssed i didn’t find it earlier_  
_Bear: but relived_  
_Bear: because now the floor plan matches what i thought it was_

_Bean: deep_

_Bear: laura_  
_Bear: seriously fuck youuuu_

_Bean: <3_  
_Bean: i’m happy for you_

A few hours later, Laura’s phone pinged again.

_Bear: went to the library and used the internet_  
_Bear: aromanticism is a thing too_  
_Bear: thats people who dont feel romantic love_  
_Bear: laura, i think im a fucking aromantic asexual_  
_Bear: an aro ace_  
_Bear: arrow ace_  
_Bear: omg im awesome_

_Bean: youre a dork <3_

 

* * *

 

“We should get married.”

Laura felt Clint tense through her toes, which were tucked between his thigh and the loveseat they were sharing. He turned to look at her with wide eyes, slowly lowering his beaten up paperback. “Pardon me? My ears must be low on batteries or something. What did you just say?”

“We should get married,” Laura repeated, putting her sewing down in her lap so she could sign _married_ , her flat right hand making a small circle at chest height before clapping into her upturned left. “You heard me right.”

They were sitting in Laura’s tiny apartment, coming as close to cuddling on the loveseat as they dared in the sticky July heat. They’d barely spoken all day, just quietly moving in sync through their morning activities before resigning to the sofa as the heat crept in. Clint was on medical leave as he recovered from a torn bicep muscle and he’d come out to Pennsylvania to take advantage of Laura’s precious air conditioning, and Laura’s dressmaking commissions were supporting her enough that she only took a few shifts a week at the restaurant, so they’d spent most of the past week and a half absorbing each other’s presence. It was idyllic and peaceful and perfect and Laura couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this without Clint beside her.

And that’s when she broke the silence.

“Laura,” Clint said, staring at her. “What the hell are you going on about.”

She tilted her head at him, resting her temple against the staticky brocade of the sofa. “We’d be wonderful together, Clint.”

There was a long silence. Clint tucked his hand up under Laura’s knee, sliding along her calf and squeezing slightly. “Bean… I love you, but -- I’m not _in_ love with you.”

Laura grinned and slid her hand into Clint’s, weaving their fingers together. “And I love you, Bear. I’m not in love with you either.”

Clint blinked at her slowly, squinting as though to bring her ideas into better focus. "You've lost me."

"Look," Laura started, squeezing his hand. "Marriage has been around basically forever, right? But the requirement of romantic love is a really new idea. Like, _really_ new. It used to be all about business and politics and trading women like favours or money or something. Then it switched to being a bond of love and now that's all we tend to think about in a marriage. I'm just suggesting that we make another switch - we could marry for stability and comfort."

Clint absorbed that for a moment. "How the fuck do you know all this?"

She gave him a cheeky smile. "Discovery Channel, m’dear. It's amazing what you can learn if you sew with the TV on."

"Nerd," he said with a grin, but sobered quickly, tugging his hand away to rub at his neck. "Laura, I can't trap you in a loveless marriage -- romanceless marriage," he corrected at her protesting sound. "I can't do that. I'm not -- you don't love me that way. I can’t love you that way. It'd be cruel."

"It's not cruel if that’s what I’m expecting, Clint."

“But I’d be holding you back,” he protested, flailing a hand in her general direction. “You could marry someone you actually love but I’d be there instead, getting in the way--”

“Clint, I don’t want to marry someone else--”

"But you're a lesbian!" Clint blurted out and he was starting to look honestly distressed. Laura caught his gesturing hand between her own. “You’d be stuck with me and I’m not in love with you and you’re a lesbian, Laura! This doesn’t make sense!”

“Yes, it does, Clint. Really--”

“I’m asexual! You’re gay! How the fu--”

“No, no, please listen. Listen to me.” She pressed his fingers to her lips. “I’m so tired, Clint.” She let her head hang slightly, hair clinging to the sofa. “I’m so tired. I don’t know whether it’s me, or just chance, or whether I’ve pissed off God for not going to church enough or something, but I’m so tired of trying so hard and failing spectacularly. Because when I fail at a relationship,” she chuckled quietly, “I fucking _fail_.”

She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “But not with you, Bear. I don’t -- I don’t need to find someone who makes me happy. I don’t need to find someone who makes my day better simply by being alive, or who I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. Because I already have you, Clint. I love you. You’re my best friend. And I’m pretty sure that’s all that’s needed in the long run.

Clint opened his mouth to interrupt, but Laura rushed over him.

“We both want roughly the same things out of life, don’t we? A place to be quiet in. A farm, preferably. Someone to grow old with. Companionship. Financial security. Privacy.” She paused. “Kids.” Clint’s head snapped up from where he’d been staring at their joined hands and he met her gaze, eyes wide. “And neither of us have been very lucky in love, whether through circumstance,” she waved a hand at herself, “or brain chemistry,” she indicated Clint, “but I think we deserve to be happy anyway. And I think we can be happy with each other. You’re the platonic love of my life, Clint Barton, and I think I’ve known that since I was twelve years old.”

Clint just stared at her, his mouth slightly agape, his brow furrowed with some emotion Laura couldn’t quite place. After a long moment he let out a quiet “oh" and relaxed his shoulders, curling in on himself slightly. He tugged his hand out of Laura's grip and ran it roughly through his hair. "Oh.”

“Yeah."

They went quiet, Laura waiting as Clint collected his thoughts. Lucky's back leg twitched in his sleep, kicking at the dappled sunlight that covered the rug he was sprawled on. The wall clock in the kitchen ticked by four and a half minutes and Laura was debating picking up her sewing again when Clint heaved out a giant sigh.

“Wouldn’t you miss women? And romance? Sex?”

Laura let out a slow breath. “Probably, yeah. But I think the trade-off is worth it. Given my history, I’d rather have a stable platonic relationship than a rocky romantic one.” Laura wiggled her toes under Clint’s leg, smiling when he made a face at her. “Honestly, so long as I get the occasional night out to find myself some lady love, I’d be perfectly happy with an otherwise celibate, romance-less existence with you. That stuff isn’t… it’s not world-ending levels of important to me. Especially if it meant I had everything else that comes with you.”

Clint squirmed slightly. “Uh.”

“What?”

“I just…”

“Clint, spit it out.”

“If… if we were to do this, would you -- fuck, definitely say no to this if you want, for Christ’s sake -- would you be willing to entertain the idea of a _not_ celibate existence with me?”

Laura tilted her head. “Oh? I thought--”

“I still _like_ sex, Bean.” His ears were going red. “It feels fucking awesome. But I’m not interested in the people themselves. It’s like… it’s like masturbation, y’know? It’s good, but I don’t think my hand’s sexy.” At her laugh, he stuck out his tongue. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” 

Clint rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “And it causes issues. Because most people who pick me up at a bar are expecting more than I can give them, which is why I stopped doing that whole scene, no matter how much I like sex itself. So the idea of mutual, assisted orgasms between friends is, uh, _really_ appealing? I mean,” he stammered suddenly, eyes going wide. “I get that you aren’t into me like that, I _get_ that, don’t think I’m trying to like… convert you or something, please.” Laura shook her head slightly and squeezed Clint’s hand, silently encouraging him to keep talking. “I just think that we’re comfortable enough with each other and in our own sexualities to have a little fun sometimes. Or something. Ugh.” He let out a gust of breath. “Or just forget I said anything, fuck, I sound like such a creeper.”

“Clint--”

“This isn’t a weird ‘comply with your wifely duties’ thing, I’ve actually been thinking about this for a while and it seemed like a good time to mention it, but on second thought it sounds like I’m demanding sex in exchange for marriage and that’s so _not_ what I’m tr--”

“ _Clint._ ”

Clint’s jaw snapped shut, his gaze skittering over Laura’s shoulder.

“Bear, really, it’s okay. I know you’re not trying to coerce me or anything, okay? And I understand what you’re saying. But can we figure out the marriage part first before we start talking about planning out our sex lives?”

Clint buried his face in his hands. Laura laughed and tugged on his pinky.

“Aw, no, don’t hide, I’m sorry for teasing. I’m not averse to the idea, Clint, not at all. Sex can be lots of fun and I like having fun with you, so that’s definitely something we can talk about if you want.” She paused, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and smoothing it down. “Actually, I’m kinda glad you brought it up - stops me from having to fuss over how to talk to you about kids and the creation thereof.”

“Yeah.” Clint cleared his throat and looked up, his shoulders tense. “You did mention kids.”

Laura nodded. “I’d love to have kids. Always have, and I know you feel the same way. And I know we’d be good at it, especially together. I’d be okay with adoption or something, but I’ve--” Her voice cracked and she looked down. Clint put a hand on her knee. “I’ve always wanted to carry my kids myself. I wasn’t -- I’d never ask you for them the old fashioned way if you weren’t up for it, but I have no issue with it if you don’t.”

“Laura Evelyn Rebane,” Clint started, his tone so serious that Laura tensed up. “I would be honoured to impregnate you the old fashioned way.” She snorted and punched him in the arm.

“You’re such a dork,” she muttered. Clint laughed, a little wet sounding, and knuckled under his eyes.

“Why you even bother to keep around this vaguely human shaped bundle of emotional disaster, I’ll never understand. I’m such a mess, Laura.”

“Well, that’s for me to know and you to accept, my dear, my love, my Clinty Bear. So, what do you say?” Laura flexed her hands around his, meeting his eyes with a careful smile. “Can I have your hand in wonderfully platonic matrimony?”

Clint grinned, slow and wide. “Only if I can have yours, too.”

Laura laughed and Clint bussed a kiss on her cheek.

 

* * *

 

The last rays of sunlight streamed over the porch, highlighting the patches of dirt and throwing peeling scabs of paint into relief. Clint leaned against the column beside the rickety steps, cradling a steaming cup of coffee in his hands as he took in the scene before him - the tall grass in the pasture, the overgrown vegetable garden, the sagging roof of the barn, the old woodpile that had been left unattended for so long the logs had bleached white in the sun. The property had come with a dozen chickens and an old mule named Herb and they mingled together in the paddock, Herb’s tail swishing at flies and occasionally catching a hen in the face without much ado. Lucky was in the long grass, chasing butterflies and crickets, barking freely with his vertical flag of a tail the only indication of his position.

Clint was designing a new chicken coop in his head when a pair of arms wrapped themselves firmly around his chest, a warm form pressing against his back. “Hey, Old MacBarton,” Laura’s sleepy voice said.

Clint grinned and covered her hands with his own. “Hey Old MsBarton,” he responded.

She huffed a laugh against his neck. “That’s not how that works, Clint.”

“I’m aware.”

The house had been on the market for almost a year and a half, ever since the old woman had died in her sleep. Neighbours had been seeing to the animals and the realtor made sure that the pipes wouldn’t freeze in the winter, but the property was otherwise almost completely neglected. To the newlywed Bartons, it was perfect. Cheap, secluded, with outbuildings and fenced land, space for a Quinjet to land, enough of a challenge to keep Clint busy, and sound enough that Laura wouldn’t worry - they’d decided to buy it almost immediately upon viewing it.

“Did you see the instructions for Herb in the barn?” Laura asked, sliding out from behind Clint to lean against his side, stealing a sip of his coffee. Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I did. What a hoot he’s going to be.”

“First animal I’ve ever met that came with instructions beyond ‘feed and walk’, I think.”

Clint chuckled. “Well, y’know. Mules.”

“Yeah, mules.”

"Knock on wood, he'll be the most difficult part of keeping this place going.”

Laura hummed. "Knock on wood all you like, Bear, but there's a lot that needs doing and just us two to do it.”

“True. I’m not so sure that piece of shit is within our abilities, though,” Clint said, nodded in the direction of the ancient tractor that sat beside the barn, so rusted over that you could barely tell it was supposed to be green.

“You’ll fix it.”

“Actually, or are you just saying that?”

Laura shrugged enigmatically and changed the subject. “What did SHIELD say when they called earlier?” she said, resting her head on Clint’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me they’re cutting your time off short.”

“No, they were just letting me know that we’ve got something lined up once I get back.”

“Already? Jeeze. That place would fall apart without you.”

Clint snorted. “As much as my ego appreciates that sentiment…”

Laura just smiled and leaned into him more. The wind picked up slightly as the light faded and the air was changing, growing heavier in feel and smell. Laura hoped the building inspector was right when he said the roof was in good shape.

“Are you _sure_ you’ll be okay out here by yourself when I’m on missions?” Clint interrupted her thoughts suddenly, a strange look on his face.

Laura stared up at him for a moment, making sure she had heard him correctly, then slapped the back of her hand sharply against his chest. “Oh my god Clint, ask me that one more time, I dare you. Christ.”

“I could be gone for months at a time!” Clint frowned.

“And I will manage the same way I always have when I didn’t see you for months at a time.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said, glaring at it her a little.

“I know, but it’s just as ridiculous. Clint, I wouldn’t have given my okay on the house if I didn’t think I could upkeep it alone.”

“What about alone and pregnant?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “I. Will. Manage.” Standing upright, she whistled for Lucky, who came bounding out of the grass and up to the house. “And I’ll thank you not to assume I won’t, Clint Barton.”

Clint sighed and dumped the remnants of his coffee over the railing before he followed her into the house. “It’s not that I think you won’t, Bean.” He stomped his boots on the mat, closing the screen door carefully. “It’s that I want you to be sure you know how much work this house could be, _especially_ if you’re pregnant.”

“And you think you have better insight into that than I do?” Laura wound her way through the scattered stacks of moving boxes, stopping in front of the built-in bookshelf by the cellar steps and running a careful finger over a shelf.

“Well, no, but--”

“No, Clint. No ‘buts’. I need you to understand that this entire time we’ve lived separately, in all these years since Carson’s, I have managed.” Laura ripped the packing tape off of the box at her feet and started haphazardly stacking books on the shelf. “I have lived in dilapidated shacks. I have worked three jobs at a time. I have escaped abusive partners and dealt with handsy bosses and lived on the street.” She shoved a stack of books upright with a _bang_. “I have made things work when it seemed like every possible force in the world was pushing against me, even if that meant _deciding_ that I needed help. And now that I’m in a good situation -- a _good_ situation, Clint -- I’d like to think that I’ve earned the right to be trusted to take care of myself! To know what I can handle.” She spun on her heel to glare at Clint, a handful of books tucked in the crook of her arm. “And I’d really like to think that you can trust me to do that.”

Clint met her eyes for a long moment, then dropped his gaze to his boots. “I’m not trying to say that I think you can’t manage, Laura--”

“But that _is_ what you’re saying, Clint, intentionally or not.” Laura huffed out a breath, blowing a strand of hair away from her face, and tilted her head consideringly. "Look, I just need to know, need you to know, that even though a lot has changed for us in these last few months, absolutely nothing has changed at the same time. I may not be a secret agent or a government goon or a scary assassin or anything like that, but I'm perfectly capable of running my life.” Clint looked up, a complicated expression sitting on his features and visibly holding his tongue. “And I need you to remember that. The last thing I need is for you to go all Neanderthal protective on me just because now we’ve got the same name, okay?”

Clint pursed his lips, his brow furrowed as he stared at Laura. She was used to the intensity of his gaze when he was focussing on something, but she definitely understood why it unnerved some people - it was a lot of energy.

"Okay.”

Laura blinked. "Yeah?”

"Yeah." Clint sighed. “M' sorry, Bean. You know I think you're on top of stuff, I know you've got it together. I just, I just worry.”

"I know you do.” Laura hugged the books to her chest. “And worrying's fine. Everyone worries. Christ Clint, you go off fighting international baddies and I don't know what else with a _prehistoric weapon_ \- you think I don't worry?" Clint snorted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Difference is, I don't ask you if you're sure you can do it, or fuss about it all. I trust you to know your abilities and limits.”

Clint nodded and stepped forward to tug Laura into a tentative hug, visibly relaxing when she went into it easily, pressing the stack of books between their bellies. "I'm sorry.”

"Stop grovelling, I ain't your preacher.” Laura reached up and patted his cheek affectionately. "Just don't do it again and we're good, 'kay?”

"Kay.”

"Good. Now go open that bottle of wine I know you've got hidden in your duffel and let's celebrate the fact that we just put ourselves into significant debt buying this dump in an attempt to create that perfect American life neither of us had growing up.”

Clint laughed, long and loud. "Sounds like a plan to me.”

 

* * *

 

“So I’m in Budapest.”

Laura’s heart jumped into her throat and her grip tightened on the handle of her mug. Clint _never_ told her where he was - sometimes he could share which continent he was on, or the timezone, but never anything more specific than that. SHIELD had a very strict policy on OpSec and that included not sharing location information with family members (though Laura wasn’t officially family since Clint had removed her name from all paperwork after they got married - fuck the technicalities) unless one of two circumstances occurred: the agent was either compromised, or mortally wounded.

“...Laura?”

“Are you okay?”

“Uh. For a given definition of okay, yeah.”

“Clint, please.”

Clint sighed, the line crackling and spitting. “What was supposed to be a milk run turned into a shitshow and I got shot in the stomach. I’m fine, though!” he finished quickly, speaking over Laura’s distressed noise. She sank down into the kitchen chair behind her, a shaking hand over her face.

“You’re fine?” 

“I’m fine. The surgery was a little rough and I’m going to have an impressive scar, but the bullet missed most of the important belly things and I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine.” His voice took on a softer tone. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Bean, I’m sorry.”

Laura closed her eyes and tilted her head back, willing her heart rate to slow. “If you’re fine, why are you telling me where you are?” She stood up again and Lucky, who’d been sleeping on the kitchen rug, lumbered to his feet and followed her to the hallway, tail wagging furiously. “You’re not dying or dead, and if you were compromised somehow I’d be talking to Phil, not you--”

“Coulson’s still not over the fact that you call him by his Christian name, by the way.”

“He’s so not a ‘Coulson’, Clint. Not to me.” Laura reached down and patted Lucky’s head, running a finger down his muzzle to his cold nose. “Stop stalling, Bear. Why do I know that you’re in Budapest?”

Clint was quiet for a few long moments and Laura patiently waited him out, opening the front door and watching Lucky dart into the dewed grass.

“SHIELD thinks I’m compromised because I went AWOL and came back with a gut wound and an infamous Russian assassin in tow.”

Laura chewed that over, moving to the east windows and tugging the curtains closed against the morning light. “If they think you’re compromised, why am I talking to you and not Phil?” she finally said, strategically deciding to skip over the rest of the content of that statement for the moment.

“Because _Phil_ doesn’t think I’m compromised and snuck me a phone. He’s officially standing guard right now too, making sure I don’t slip my cuffs and rabbit off into the Hungarian wilderness.”

Laura let out a slow breath. _Cuffs_. “Okay. Thank him for me?”

“Of course.”

“Is the gut wound a direct result of the infamous Russian assassin?”

Clint chuckled. “No. It’s the direct result of a more obscure, more Bulgarian assassin who didn’t appreciate my infamous Russian assassin recruitment techniques.”

“Recruitment techniques?”

“Hence the ‘in tow’ bit of the story.”

“Why did you try to recruit--”

“Successfully recruit.” 

“--an infamous Russian assassin?”

Clint paused and Laura braced herself. “She looked tired.”

“Tired.” Laura’s voice went flat. “You went AWOL, got shot, and brought the heavy suspicion of your scary, international, pseudo-military intelligence organization down upon yourself because the infamous Russian assassin looked _tired_.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Clint--”

“Bean, she was letting me follow her. She knew I was there and she didn’t care. She purposely stopped and tied her shoe within my sights, okay? And she took like three minutes to do it, too. I couldn’t -- I just couldn’t do that. She looked so tired and run down, I had to at least _ask_ if she wanted a break from working alone and watching her own back, y’know? So I went after her.”

“You’re a soft-hearted fool, Clint Barton.”

“Hey, you married me. What’s that say about you?”

Laura sighed. “That I’m a soft-hearted fool, too.” Clint laughed. “So you’re okay? You’re not lying to me?”

“I’m not lying, you always catch my lies.”

“True.” She shifted against the window frame, watching Lucky chase a squirrel outside. “Do you have any idea when you’ll be back home? Or at least in the country?”

“No, not really. They won’t be able to move me for a few days at least, but I’m not sure how much the infamous Russian assassin is going to fuck up the timeline. Coulson will stay in touch with you, though. He’ll let you know when things move along.”

“Okay. You stay safe, okay?”

“I’ll do my best, Bean. I always do.”

“And yet you end up in foreign hospitals with bullet wounds, so forgive me if I don’t always trust your ‘best’.”

“Aw, Laura, low blow.”

“Those are the ones that work.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Okay, Coulson’s making increasingly frantic hand gestures at me, so I think I have to go. Don’t want to be caught with a contraband phone, y’know.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Clint.”

“You will. Love you, Bean.”

“Love you, Bear.”

 

* * *

 

“You’ll never guess who called me the other day.”

“Oh?” Clint was standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a pot and bobbing slightly to some internal rhythm. “Who? Was it the farrier? Has she forgiven us for Herb?”

Laura laughed, flexing her bare feet where they sat propped up on the kitchen chair across from her. “I don’t think she’ll ever forgive us for Herb, honestly. No, it was Callie, actually.”

“Callie?” He looked over his shoulder to check he’d heard her correctly and Laura nodded. “Callie who?”

“ _Callie_.”

Clint paused, salt shaker tilted in mid-air, a thin stream of salt falling into the pot. “Wait.” He slammed the salt to the counter and spun on his heel to face Laura. “Calliope?!”

“Yep.”

Clint gaped. A glob of spaghetti sauce fell from the spoon dangling in his hand and _splotted_ to the floor. “Holy shit! How? Where? What the--” He cut off when Lucky almost bowled him over in an attempt to get at the spilled spaghetti sauce and Clint cursed under his breath, hauling himself upright by the edge of the counter. “Goddamn dog, Christ.”

Laura swirled the wine in her glass, resting her chin in her hand, her eyes glittering with amusement. “She saw one of my ads in the paper and called me up. Said she recognized the style of dress in the picture.”

“Jesus.” Clint gave Lucky a carrot stub and gently bumped him out of the kitchen. “That’s a blast from the past, innit?”

“Yeah, sure is.” Laura took a sip of her wine. “She was pretty interested in my last name, though.” 

Clint grinned wickedly. “She was always basically the only person at Carson’s who didn’t think we’d end up together.”

“Pretty much. She said she always figured I was gay and just didn’t know it myself yet, which, uh, is pretty much how it went down,” Laura said with a laugh. “When I confirmed that I am in fact a lesbian, she asked if you were trans.” Clint stuck out his bottom lip in a “fair, fair” face, nodding slowly. “So I just explained it’s a platonic thing and she’s absolutely _thrilled_ for us, by the way.”

Clint turned the heat down on the sauce and leaned against the counter beside the stove. “Fucking hell. _Calliope_. How is she? What’s she doing with her life now? It’s been, what, ten years now since Carson’s went under, right? It didn’t last that much longer after we left.”

“Something like that, yeah. She’s still living the nomadic life, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Spent a lot of the last few years slowly making her way east, staying at farms and co-ops, working under the table, y’know.”

“The usual.” Clint grinned.

Laura nodded, returning his smile. “The usual. She’s over at Jake’s now, helping with the lambing season. And apparently also giving him a lesson on what badass old hippie ladies can do, the chauvinist that he is.”

Clint whistled low between his teeth. “Jeeze. Does she still sew at all?”

“She does! Still has that same old case machine, she said. Makes baby clothes and the like for the young families she stays with.” 

"Oh hey, that's pretty cool. Bet she teaches those kids some pretty sweet sewing skills, too, given her success in that arena.” Clint bobbed his head deferentially to Laura, who wrinkled her nose at him.

"My modesty demands I deny that, say 'what, these ol' things?’," Laura said, taking a sip of her wine, “but I don't think I can do it with a straight face. I'm pretty damn good with a needle and thread and I've Callie to thank for it.”

Clint nodded, grinning. “God, Callie. I haven’t seen her since… well, since I left,” he finished quietly, turning back to stir the sauce.

“Yeah,” Laura agreed, carefully stepping around the conversational land mines they could both see, avoiding any mention of Barney, of Trickshot, of the Swordsman. “It’s been a long time.” Any mention of the robbery, of the hospital, of Callie’s unwavering support for the ‘good Barton boy’. “She’d love to see you, I’m sure.”

“I’d love to see her.” Clint tasted the sauce. “When’s she coming by?”

“Whenever we can fit her into our busy schedule.” Laura smiled at Clint’s snort.

"Ah, yes, so busy. The busiest people, that's us. So busy, in fact, that I've spent almost eight hours slow cooking an Italian dinner and you rolled out of bed at noon. Busy busy.””

"You're the problem, Mister I've-been-to-Europe-five-times-in-the-past-six-weeks.”

"For like fifteen hours each time!”

Laura waved off his protests, hiding her encroaching smile poorly. "Irrelevant. But I was thinking tomorrow night will work if you don't end up tripping the time-zone fantastic again.”

Clint stuck his tongue out at her. "Just make sure to ask her if she still only drinks bourbon.”

Laura groaned. "This is gonna be a shitshow.”

"Of the very best kind.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Clint turned the truck down the last dirt road, he was sweating with nerves. Beside him, Natasha sat placidly in the passenger’s seat, hands folded in her lap as her sharp eyes took in every detail of the snowy woods and fields around them. It had taken a lot (a _lot_ ) of convincing SHIELD, specifically Fury, to let Clint take Natasha home for the holiday weekend, but he’d won them over and now she was in his “care” for four days.

He was already regretting everything.

“Barton.”

Clint tipped his head to Natasha. “Yeah?”

“Calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“Yeah, and I’m Captain America.” She shot him an unimpressed look. “I’m not going to shame your house or embarrass you in front of your neighbours or kill you in your sleep --”

“Wow--”

“--so calm the fuck down. I thought you trusted me?”

“--one of these things is not like the others.” Clint finished, glancing at Nat before frowning out the windshield. He sighed. “I do trust you, Nat. I do. That doesn’t mean I can’t be nervous letting you see this part of my life, okay?”

Natasha didn’t reply to that. Instead, they sat in slightly uncomfortable silence until Clint turned the pickup into the driveway of the house. “And here we are.”

“It’s cute,” was Natasha’s comment after a long moment of inspection through the windshield. Clint had to agree. Their farmhouse was pretty picturesque when you considered the snow and the Christmas lights and the bound-up tree waiting on the front porch. They grabbed their bags and tromped up to the door, Clint swiping at the security pad and waving Natasha into the house. 

“Laura?” 

“Cellar!” came a muffled reply. “Just be a sec!” Clint and Natasha busied themselves with their coats and bags and the overly enthusiastic Lucky who crashed into them, happily slobbering all over Natasha’s otherwise pristine jeans.

“Beer?” Clint offered, heading for the kitchen. Natasha nodded and followed, smiling down at Lucky as he nosed at her hand.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.” Natasha took the bottle Clint held out to her and leaned her hip against the counter, wrenching the top off the beer.

“Yeah, I have a dog. His name’s Lucky and he’s a total doofus.” Clint hefted himself up to perch on the edge of the island counter, reaching out with a foot to rub at Lucky’s shoulder. “Total doofus.”

Natasha took a sip of her beer and stroked her fingers lightly over Lucky’s head. “I like dogs,” she murmured. Clint smiled.

Laura appeared around the corner, huffing slightly, hair in disarray. “Sorry, sorry, I was trying to find Herb’s Santa hat. I want to see if he’ll let us do it again,” she said to Clint. She patted herself down, grimacing at the little dust clouds that puffed from her sweater. “And I’ve gone and made a mess of myself like the excellent host that I am, good heavens.”

Clint shook his head ruefully and turned to Natasha. “Nat, this dust bunny is my wife, Laura. Laura, Natasha.”

Laura went to hold out her hand to shake, then made a face at its grimy condition and retracted it to rub against her thigh. “It's wonderful to finally meet you, Natasha. Clint's told me lots about you.”

Natasha smiled and stepped away from the counter, reaching a hand out to Laura with deliberate intent. "And you, Laura. Not that he's told me much about you at all.” Laura blinked at the proffered hand for a moment, then smiled and shook it.

"No,” she said. "He does tend to keep mum about me. It’s a thing.”

Natasha nodded. “So I understand.”

Clint looked between them with growing amusement, a broad smile creeping over his face. Laura saw him and took a step back from Natasha, pushing hair behind her ear and tugging gently on her earlobe. “Why don’t you go and sit in the living room, Natasha?” she offered. “Dinner’s in the oven for another half hour, so feel free to put your feet up. Clint’s just going to help me with something in here and then we’ll join you.”

When Natasha walked into the living room, beelining for the bookshelf and examining its contents, Laura faced Clint across the kitchen island and mouthed “holy fuck” at him, accenting with an exaggerated _sexy_ sign. Clint tilted his head and Laura made a face at him before peeling her dusty sweater off to reveal a relatively clean tee.

 _Could've warned me,_ she signed roughly, dipping to check out her hair in the reflective surface of the toaster. 

_Didn't occur to me_ , he replied, looking vaguely apologetic.

_Is she into women? Was that flirting?_

Clint shrugged. Laura threw her hands into the air.

 _How you ever got laid I will never know._ She made the _never_ slash particularly dramatic, widening her eyes in exasperation.

 _They came to me, sweetcheeks._ Clint puffed out his chest comically, lifting his chin.

Laura just sighed and patted his cheek as she passed, heading for the living room.

*

It was over lunch the next day that Natasha leaned back in her chair, glass of water in hand, and said:

“You two aren’t actually romantically involved, are you?”

Clint, by some miracle of SHIELD training, managed to continue chewing and swallowing his mouthful without giving away the bolt of panic her words caused. Laura, on the other hand, ruined his attempt at composure by letting out a single laugh and resting her chin in her hand.

“That didn’t take long. Clint, we’re losing our edge.”

He scoffed. “You’re losing your edge. My edge is perfect.”

“Obviously not perfect enough if Natasha figured it out in less than twenty-four hours.”

Natasha smirked. “To be fair, I am trained in this sort of thing. Reading people.”

Clint sighed and put down his fork, pushing his almost empty plate away. “Explains why you’re the only one who’s caught on, then. The neighbours think we’re blissfully all over each other.”

“Why aren’t you?”

Clint and Laura exchanged a look; she shrugged and he nodded. 

“I’m asexual.” Clint tapped his fingers on the table absently. “She’s gay. We’re… best friends,” he finished with a slightly pinched look.

“As massively insufficient as that term is,” Laura agreed.

Natasha hummed, nodding. “Okay.”

“‘Okay’?” Clint raised an eyebrow.

“What? Were you expecting me to damn you?”

“Well, no. Was expecting questions, though.”

Natasha took a sip of water. “Not my place to ask.”

“Who’s place is it?” Laura sat back in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee.

“Someone more, hm. Directly involved..”

“So it could be your place, then.”

Natasha went still - not in any obvious way, but definitely _still_ all the same - and held Laura’s gaze for a long moment. “Is that on offer?”

Laura dipped her head slightly and reached up to touch the pendant of her necklace, one eyebrow raised. “If you’d like to have it.”

Clint watched Natasha’s smile spread over her face, surprised at the soft note to it, and made a decision. He cleared his throat awkwardly and stood up, stacking their dishes into a pile that he whisked into the kitchen. The two women watched him with amusement.

“I’m going to take Lucky out for a walk in the woods, go see if that stream’s dammed itself up again.” He tugged his jacket down from the hook by the front door. “I’ll be gone, oh, an hour or so. You can talk or something. Get to know each other. I’m sure you do a lot of talking in an hour, can’t you?” With a wink to Laura, obvious enough that he knew Nat caught it, he whistled for Lucky and tromped out the door.

Less than ten minutes later, just as he was hitting the border of field and forest in the north pasture, his phone went off with a text.

_Bean: for the sake of absolute clarity (and natasha’s peace of mind):_  
_Bean: i’m gonna bone your coworker_

_Bear: cool just dont get me fired_  
_Bear: or piss her off_  
_Bear: oh and change the sheets when youre done please & ty_

_Bean: hey c’mon, how many times have i slept in your sex sheeets?_

_Bear: its nats sex sheets thats weird_

_Bean: fine <3_

_Bear: have fun <3_

 

* * *

 

“Clint?”

“Hmm?” Clint didn’t look up from where he was painting the baseboard, braced on a hand and two knees over a drop cloth, the tip of his tongue sticking out between his lips.

Laura’s mouth moved around like it was trying to speak, trying to find any words, but all it managed to actually form was: “Positive.”

“What?” Clint tilted his head so he could see her mouth.

“Positive.”

Clint stared at her. “Pos -- _Positive?_ ” He dropped the paintbrush to the cloth and jumped to his feet, rounding the couch and stopping a few feet shy of where Laura stood leaning against the door jamb.

“Positive,” she repeated faintly, holding out the little white stick to show him the double blue lines on the end.

“Positive,” he echoed, face slack with shock. He tore his gaze away from the stick in her shaking grasp and met her wet eyes, a broad smile blooming on his face. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” she agreed, a matching smile forming. “Oh my god.”

Clint closed the distance between them and pulled Laura into an enveloping hug, crushing her to his chest when she dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god.”

 

* * *

 

Laura paced around the kitchen like a sore tiger, red in the face and hands in the air. Clint, sitting at the table with his feet up on a chair and holding an ice pack to his swollen face, tracked her movement with a tiny smile on his lips.

“And _then_ , oh oh oh, _then_ she decides that the reason the dress doesn’t meet her exacting requirements, which, as you may remember, _she never explained to me_ , is because I have a new baby! And all my brainpower is going to looking after Cooper and I don’t have enough left to be _fucking psychic_ , I guess, holy shit.”

“Well,” Clint started, drawing out the syllable, but bit his tongue when Laura turned her glare on him. He wrestled into submission the grin that threatened to spread over his face, then gestured for her to continue.

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “Then she finished up the whole horrendous fitting by suggesting that you, Mr. Barton, take care of Cooper when I should be focussing on my psychic dressmaking abilities, and when I said that you were away on business, and often are, she implied that you weren’t really away on business but were off galavanting and whoring through Europe or something, I don’t know.” 

Laura stopped and leaned her elbows against the island countertop, head cradled in hands. “By the end of it, I didn’t even care that she refused to pay me for the fitting time, I just wanted out of her fucking stuffy pretentious house and away from her poisonous tongue, Jesus Christ on a cracker.” She let out a long groan. “Why did I decide that making fancy dresses for rich women was a good idea?”

“Because you’re an excellent seamstress and rich women are willing to pay you a lot?” Clint rotated the ice pack.

“Ugh, I guess. I don’t know if the anguish is worth it, though.”

“You’d be sad if you didn’t sew, Bean, and this way you get compensated.”

Laura sighed. “I know.”

They lapsed into silence, Laura gently swaying side to side on her elbows and Clint watching her with soft eyes.

“Clint?”

“Laura?”

A pause. “Wanna have sex?”

Clint tilted his head at her.

“I’m really fucking frustrated and could do with an assisted orgasm right now. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I’ll see if Nat’s up for it.”

Clint studied his wife for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”

“Oh thank god.” Laura came around the island and tugged Clint out of his seat, framing his face to kiss him affectionately.

“Just be gentle with me - two cracked ribs, y’know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She pecked him on the lips again, ran a careful finger down his swelling cheekbone. “I promise not to break you more.”

 

* * *

 

>   
>  To: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Fr: laura@lbd.com  
>  Subject: Geese  
> 
> 
> How do you feel about them?

>   
>  To: laura@lbd.com  
>  Fr: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> No strong feelings either way. Why?

>   
>  To: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Fr: laura@lbd.com  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> Margot’s got a broody goose and wants to get rid of the eggs. She says they eat pests from gardens and work better than dogs as a security alarm.

>   
>  To: laura@lbd.com  
>  Fr: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> Because we don’t have enough of a security system in our house already? Fury went a little over the top, let’s be real.  
> 
> 
> I’m okay with baby geese.

>   
>  To: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Fr: laura@lbd.com  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> I can appreciate Nick going a little over the top. He’s one of Cooper’s favourite people.  
> 
> 
> They’re called goslings.

>   
>  To: laura@lbd.com  
>  Fr: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> Goslats.  
>  Gosleeks.  
>  Gosloids.  
>  Goslites.  
>  Geeslings.  
>  Geeslees.

>   
>  To: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Fr: laura@lbd.com  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> Don’t you have work to be doing?

>   
>  To: laura@lbd.com  
>  Fr: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> I’m so efficient, my work does itself.

>   
>  To: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Fr: laura@lbd.com  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> You should try applying that sort of efficiency to the barn roof.

>   
>  To: laura@lbd.com  
>  Fr: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> :(

>   
>  To: c.barton@shi.eld.gov  
>  Fr: laura@lbd.com  
>  Subject: Re: Geese  
> 
> 
> <3

 

* * *

 

While SHIELD’s paternity leave left something to be desired, Clint considered himself lucky all the same. They pulled him out of a mission when Laura started her contractions and Clint thanked his lucky stars that he’d just been the sniper on this op - if he’d been undercover as a point of contact, he would’ve had to stay. Still, by the time he got home, Laura was almost eight hours into the labour and wandering around their living room in a slow, heavy pace as the midwife made notes from the couch.

He dropped his bag at the door and swept into the room. “Hey Laura.”

“I hate you.”

Clint stopped dead and put his hands on his hips. The midwife covered her smile with her hand.

“You do not, don’t say that.” He moved over to pull Laura into a gentle hug, hands cupping her hips as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Right now, Clint, I sorta do.”

“Hey, this was more your idea than mine, remember.”

‘Ugh, don’t remind me, I’m--” She cut off with a gasp and gripped Clint biceps sharply, bending her knees. “Oh god, another one, Marie.” 

The midwife put down her notes and joined them, shifting Clint’s hands to support Laura’s elbows as she braced against him. “Good, Laura, breathe through it, good.” Laura panted, her arms trembling and fingers digging into Clint’s skin, and less than half a minute later she relaxed, the tension falling from her face and her breathing returning to a more natural rhythm.

Clint rubbed his nose gently over Laura’s crown, pressing a gentle kiss into her hair. “Good job, Bean.” Laura chuckled and patted his chest, pushing away from him to lean her forearms against the low back of the armchair.

Marie checked her watch. “They’re definitely speeding up. That was nine minutes between.”

“What do they have to get to?” Clint asked, rubbing a firm hand along Laura’s lower spine, moving with her as she swayed back and forth slightly.

“Pretty much immediate.”

Laura groaned. 

“I’m not going to lie to you, honey - it’s probably going to be a while yet.” Marie gave her a sympathetic look.

“I thought child number two was supposed to be faster?” There was a faint tone of whining in Laura’s voice.

“Generally, yes, but Cooper was unusually fast for a first birth. We talked about this, Laura.”

Laura grunted and pushed herself away from the chair. “I know. I think I repressed it.”

Clint smiled gently, tugging on a lock of Laura’s hair. “You’ll get through it, Bean.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed slightly, kissing her temple.

“You stink, Bear.”

“Hey.”

“No, literally,” Laura huffed, pushing at him ineffectually. “You smell like a locker room in July. Go take a shower.”

“Uh, no.” He gave her an incredulous look. “I’m staying here.”

“Then crack open a package of baby wipes or something, you seriously fucking smell. Gunpowder and BO.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You’re such a peach, Laura.”

“When you push a baby out of an orifice, I’ll let you be as grouchy as you want.”

Clint just shook his head and peeled away from her, wandering over to the changing table in the corner of the room and rummaging for wipes. Leaning against the table and running a wipe under his arms, he asked, “Is there anything you need, Marie? Blankets? Hot water?”

“No, I’ve got everything we need for the moment. Just keep the dog out of the room and that should be it for now. Though, I wouldn’t say no to a glass of water.” She smiled at him. “Laura, how does some ice sound?”

“Wonderful. Glorious. I’d love some.”

Clint chuckled. “Gotcha. Ice, water, hold the dog - coming right up.”

Laura and Marie shared a look. “That dog is a menace,” Laura grumbled half-heartedly and Marie laughed.

“I assume Tyler and Pavi have Cooper?” Clint called from the kitchen

Laura waited until he was walking back into the room, three glasses in hand, before replying. “Yeah. They picked him up just after I called you. He was a little scared, I think, but toughed it out.” She let out a rueful laugh. “Probably freaking Pavi out with his jungle gym acrobatics by now, though.” Clint laughed as he handed a glass to Marie.

“How much does Cooper understand what’s happening here?” Marie asked, accepting the water.

“A fair bit, I think,” Clint answered, setting the other glass of water on the coffee table. “He gets that there’s a baby in Laura’s stomach and that when the baby comes out, he’s going to be a big brother.” He made his way over to where Laura had propped herself up against the doorframe. “And that Laura’s going to be exhausted--” a snort emerged from where Laura had her forehead pressed against the wood and Clint smiled, “--so he can’t play rough with her for a while.”

“We told him that we’ll have to split our attention from now on and that that won’t mean we love him less, but,” Laura shrugged and lifted her head, shifting her hips side to side in a slow rhythm. “I don’t know how much of that actually sank in, y’know?” Clint handed the cup of ice over to Laura and started to rub her lower back again. Laura tipped her head to the side with a quiet groan.

Marie nodded, taking a sip of water and watching Laura with a keen eye. “That’s understandable, he’s still fairly young. I think he’ll be fine, though - he’s smart and sensitive and I think he’ll get that you two don’t love his new brother or sister more than him.”

“Sister. Baby’s a girl,” Laura said almost absently, puffing hair out of her face. Clint reached over to collect it into a messy ponytail, swiftly sectioning and braiding it.

Marie frowned and flicked through her notes. “I thought you hadn’t had the sex checked?”

“We didn’t,” Clint answered, tucking the end of the braid through at the base of her neck to secure it. “She just knows.”

“Oh,” Marie said knowingly, closing her folder. “Yeah, that’s common. Just don’t be upset if she’s actually a ‘he’ - maternal feelings like that aren’t much more than guesswork, unfortunately.”

Laura met Clint’s eyes over her shoulder and they shared a small smile. “Okay.”

Four hours later, Lila Mabel Barton was born.

 

* * *

 

Clint, straddling the apex of the barn roof, watched his family with amusement. Far below, Laura was ostensibly getting the kids to help her collect late bloom flowers with the intent to press them onto her business stationery, taking advantage of the warm day to spend some time outside. However, Cooper was throwing a stick for Lucky and Lila was really too young to do much other than crawl off the blanket and shove leaves into her mouth, so the whole project had degenerated into just Laura collecting flowers in the early autumn sun.

Which really wasn’t something she was going to complain about, Clint was sure.

He tipped his head back, straightening his spine out from the hunched angle he held over his work, rolling his shoulders out as the hay breeze ruffled through his hair. The weather over the past few days, bright and warm and humid, foretold an Indian summer but Clint thought it was still too early call. If it did decide to happen, though, he’d be pleased to see it; the windows in the kids’ room still needing doing and cold weather would not make that an easy task.

He was just going through the conversation he had with Harvey the other day, thinking about the ins and outs of replacing old panes of glass, when movement on the ground caught his attention. Lucky, apparently tired of playing fetch, picked up the stick Cooper had thrown and walked away with it, hunkering down in the shade of the barn. Cooper patted his thighs, trying to call Lucky back to him, but the dog had started gnawing at the stick and was happily ignoring him. Clint watched as his son lost interest, spinning in little circles and kicking at clumps of grass, and started wandering towards the fenced paddock.

Clint huffed out an annoyed breath and banged his hammer against the sheet metal he was sitting on. “Cooper!” Cooper looked up, eyes wide and mouth open. “Do not go near Herb, Cooper,” Clint shouted down, reinforcing his words with a couple emphatic signs, making them broad and obvious so Cooper could see them from the ground.

Cooper pouted and made a couple vague _want (to) pet_ signs back. Clint shook his head, signed _bite_ , and pointed away from the fence. Cooper threw his hands into the air and dramatically stomped back towards Laura, who had watched the exchange with her hands on her hips since Clint had first yelled. She reached for Cooper’s clenched fist once he was close enough and crouched in front of him, brushing his hair from his face with a soil-stained hand and pointing up to Clint.

Sighing, Clint watched as Cooper worked himself up into tears, gesturing wildly at the paddock and making mashed together, confused signs. Laura pulled him into a hug and stroked the back of his head, rocking slightly side to side. Clint could see her talking, her lips moving slightly, and when Cooper pulled away he responded, angrily wiping at his eyes. 

Laura ran her thumbs over his cheeks and kissed his forehead, then walked over to where Lila was cooing away on the quilt and put her on her hip. Taking Cooper by the hand, they made their way over to the paddock fence and, standing out of Herb’s striking range, watched the mule as he grazed on the hay in his cradle.

Eventually Lila flapped her hand at Laura, asking for milk, and Cooper was leaning pretty hard against her leg, so they all headed inside, Clint still watching from a distance.

About fifteen minutes later, Clint had just decided that this panel would be the last for the day when Laura’s head popped over the roof ledge. He yelped, fumbling the hammer and just managing to catch it before it slid down the slope of the roof. Laura covered her mouth with a hand but her eyes were laughing and Clint scowled at her.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Laura, you scared ten years off me, holy crap.”

Laura pulled her hand away, letting Clint see her smile. “Well, you didn't see me waving and yelling certainly wasn't going to work, so here I am.”

“Apparently. _Fuck._ ” He clutched his hand to his chest, willing his heartbeat to settle. "How can I help you?”

Laura offered her hand and Clint hauled her up, helping her off the ladder and steadying her until she was straddling the roof peak in a mirror image of him. "Cooper," she said, bracing her hands on her thighs.

Clint sighed and matched her pose. “Cooper.”

“That was a surprisingly big breakdown over basically nothing, I think.”

“Yeah, seemed that way. Did you get much out of him?”

“Sort of, he wa--”

A gust of wind swept over the roof suddenly, blowing Laura's words away. Clint’s ears filled with rushing white noise and he tilted his head sideways, frowning. He brought his hands up and signed _Say again?_

Laura smiled, nodding, and switched smoothly into sign.

 _He was pretty tired, they’re both down now._ She patted the baby monitor she had clipped to a belt loop. _But he kept saying he was big enough to play with Herb._

Clint snorted incredulously. _I’m not big enough to play with Herb._ Laura laughed.

_Maybe you should tell him that? He didn’t believe me._

_Yeah, I will._

_Think this has anything to do with what Peter was saying the other day?_

Clint pursed his lips. _Probably. I’m surprised he’s acting out more at school than at home._

 _I’m not_. Laura shook her head. _I’ve heard it’s not unusual, to test the limits of adults at this age, especially non-parents. Though I think the fact that a lot of this anger seems to be directed at the men in his life is something we’ll want to get to the bottom of._

_It is worrying._

They kept talking for a while, shifting from Cooper and the conversation they had had with his teacher, to Lila's upcoming doctor's appointment, to what they were going to do for Callie's visit next month. Their hands moved in a fluid combination of ASL, half-remembered carnie signs from Carson’s, and their own homegrown signs developed over the almost decade and a half since the unfortunate op that damaged Clint's hearing. The sun had crept lower in the sky, starting to throw some shadows off the treeline, when Laura stopped mid-sentence to glance down at her waist.

_Lila's up, which means Cooper will be soon. l'll go see to them._

Clint blew her a kiss, which she turned her cheek to catch. _Okay, I’ll be down soon. Ten minutes, max._

_Good. Don’t fall._

_I will do my best._

 

* * *

 

It was almost one in the morning by the time the jet landed in the pasture. Laura stood, gathering her housecoat around herself, and tucked her paperwork into the manila folder labelled “LBD financ. 2012” sitting in the middle of the table. She was standing at the screen door, the porch light on and _bzzt_ ing with moths, by the time two men climbed the creaking steps to the house.

"Good evening, Laura,” Nick said, holding the door open for Clint to pass through. Smiling, Laura drew Clint into a warm hug, which he returned after a beat, dropping his duffel to the floor and burying his face in her hair. She cupped the back of his head carefully and shot a questioning look at Nick over his shoulder.

"Sorry to wake you up,” Nick said, sounding exhausted beneath the formality.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Laura replied absently, gently running her fingers through Clint's hair. “I was already awake; I had a feeling you’d show up tonight.” Nick raised his eyebrows at her, but she just met his gaze passively.

With a sudden intake of breath, Clint pushed away from Laura sharply and brushed past her, ignoring her worried "Clint?” as he took the steps to the second floor two at a time.

“Laura.” She turned away from the stairs, from where Clint had disappeared, and faced Nick. His expression was difficult to interpret, but _sad_ was the first thing that came to her mind.

“He’s not going to fully recover from this one.” 

Laura let out a slow breath. “Physically?”

Nick shook his head sharply. “Mentally. He’s really messed up right now. What do you know about what happened?”

“Basically nothing." She looked over her shoulder to the stairs again. “Phil usually calls if it’s something really bad, but I hadn’t heard from anyone since Clint left a few weeks ago.” She gestured vaguely towards the kitchen. “Can I offer you tea or something, Nick?”

“I’ll get it, you sit.” They moved into the kitchen, Laura perching on the edge of a stool by the island and Nick placing the kettle on the rangetop. 

“What can you tell me?” Laura ventured, watching Nick’s smooth puttering over the tea. “What happened?”

Nick waited until he had two mugs on the counter, a teabag in each, before responding. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you, Laura, and it’s not ‘oh, I can’t tell you officially, so wink wink nod nod’. This is serious shit and as much as I wish I could explain everything to you, I can’t.” He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter and meeting her eyes. “But I’ll try to tell you enough.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“For two days, Clint was… mind-controlled, for lack of better term.”

Laura stared at him. “Mind-controlled?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s science fiction shit but science fiction has been invading my reality all month and I’m beyond disbelief at this point.”

“O-okay.”

Nick nodded. “So. Mind-controlled. By an individual who was hell bent on human genocide and brought along a whole bunch of non-human friends to help.”

“Manhattan?” Laura asked quietly. The whole world knew about the destruction in the city earlier in the month.

“Yeah, Manhattan.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest. “This _individual_ looked into Clint’s, I dunno, his fucking soul or something, decided he would be a fun puppet, and used him and his classified knowledge of SHIELD and other intelligence organizations to help orchestrate a full on attack.”

The kettle whistled. Nick picked it up and poured water into the mugs, sliding one over the counter to Laura’s trembling hands.

“Natasha managed to knock some sense back into him and he joined the rest of the fight on our side, but.” Nick took a moment to blow on his tea. “But a lot of people died before that happened, Laura. A _lot_. And a lot of them were people that Clint knew. Or was friendly with. He helped attack our bases and he knew all the tricks to take us down with maximum casualties.” He moved forward to lean his elbows on the island counter, cupping his mug beneath his chin. “He’s going to feel enormously guilty over that for the rest of his life, regardless of that fact that he had no control over the situation.”

Laura clutched at her tea, letting the hot ceramic scorch her fingers. “Oh god,” she said faintly.

“We kept him with us for the past couple weeks to make sure he was completely free of any influence. He’s been through the wringer, psychologically speaking, and our best brainiacs say he’s one hundred percent Barton again. We would never - Laura, look at me.” She did, pulling her gaze away from where she’d been staring at the curling wisps of steam rising from her mug. “We would _never_ send him home to you if we had even the slightest doubt he was compromised, okay? He’s no danger to you, not like that.” 

Laura nodded.

“But he’s been almost comatose for weeks now. Going through the motions, but not really interacting with his environment. And SHIELD’s in pieces right now - we don’t have the facilities or the personnel to help him cope at the moment.”

“Because of him.”

“Laura, it wasn’t his fau--”

“No, I know, I know that, but that’s what he’ll think, isn’t it?”

Nick closed his eye and dropped his chin to his chest. “Yes, of course it is. Have you ever met a more self-flagellating man than Clint Barton?”

Laura gave a strangled chuckle. “Well, if Clint’s stories are to be believed, Phil might give him a run for his money in that category.” Nick paused before he nodded and a spike of fear, of warning, traveled down Laura’s spine. “What? Nick, what happened to Phil?”

Nick met her gaze, his single eye expressively shiny. “Phil Coulson was among the casualties.”

Laura wasn’t sure when tears had started filling her eyes, but they spilled over then, pooling against the hand clasped over her mouth. “Oh, god no. _Phil_.” She reached across the counter to place her hand on Nick’s forearm, squeezing slightly. "Oh, Phil.”

Nick pursed his lips and nodded, shifting to take her hand in his. “Yeah," he managed, his voice rough.

"Are you okay?” Laura asked, squeezing their joined hands as she wiped at her cheeks. "I know you were close.”

Nick chuckled, a sad sound. "Haven't had the time to check in with myself yet, honestly, but I'll let you know when I do.” She gave him a sympathetic look and he shrugged. "Been busy.”

"Yeah, okay.”

"But, yes, that extra little tidbit about having been even tangentially involved in the cause of Coulson's death--" Nick cleared his throat, "-- isn't going to help with Clint's guilt and recovery.”

"Fuck, it really isn't, is it?” Laura hung her head. 

Nick nodded. “I hope you have a lot of projects around the house for him.”

Laura let out a laugh through her tears, a sad smile on her face. “There are, actually. He’s been pretty good recently, no PTSD haunting him at night, no manic need to improve his environment, not much. There’s lots of neglected things for him to do.”

“They’ll probably all get done now, plus some.”

Laura sighed sadly. “Yeah.”

They finished their tea in silence, listening to the crickets outside. When Nick rinsed out his mug, Laura stood and followed him out of the kitchen, standing by the front door as he resettled his coat around himself. Their eyes met and he drew her hand between his own, returning her slightly desperate squeeze

“I’m no soothsayer,” Nick started, shaking her hand slightly for emphasis, “but I’ve got some experience in this sort of situation and I’m pretty sure that he’ll be okay eventually, Laura. It’ll take more time and effort than we’re used to but he’s strong, you’re strong, and SHIELD’s here -- I’m here -- to help as much as we can.”

Laura let out a long, slow breath. “Yeah, I know.”

“Tell me that you’ll call if you need help.” Nick gave her a stern look and Laura nodded, biting her lip.

“I will, Nick, of course. You too, though. You come by if you, I dunno, if you need a weekend where the most difficult thing you do is play with the kids.” She shrugged. “It’s the least we can offer.”

Nick gave her a sad smile and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” And with that, he opened the door and left.

Laura stood in the doorway, looking out into the field, until long after the Quinjet was gone, only closing the door once she started shivering, goosebumps popping up on her arms in protest against the night air. Locking the door, she set the alarm and headed up the stairs to the quiet thunking sounds of the night-time security features engaging.

Clint was curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the blankets and facing away from the door when Laura padded into the room. It looked like he attempted to undress but gave up halfway through; his shirt was on the floor and his boots were tipped over at the foot of the bed, but his jeans were still on, his open belt still laced through the loops. His hearing aids were discarded on the nightstand, sitting beside their drying box. 

Laura draped her housecoat over the foot of the bed and crawled up the length of mattress to lie down behind him, leaving a foot of space between their bodies. She placed her splayed hand against his spine, flexing her fingers against his tense muscles, then tucked her middle and ring finger to her palm and pressed _I love you_ into his trembling back. Clint made a small sound in his throat and reached around to grab her hand, pulling it to his chest and tugging her up against his back. She kissed his neck and squeezed his hand back as hard as she could and tried to project love and comfort and safety.

It was a long night.

 

* * *

 

It was 3:14pm on a rainy Saturday afternoon and Clint was sprawled on the couch, snoring quietly. He'd woken up from a deeper sleep when Laura had come home from from her knitting circle slash unofficial PTA meeting about half an hour beforehand - Lucky bounding off the couch to greet her at the door was enough to jar his broken leg painfully - but had returned to a light doze, the combination of Lila singing to herself and the quiet hum of the TV sending him off again.

"Dad?" A small hand on his shoulder shook him slightly.

Clint grunted and furrowed his brow. "Yeah?"

"Is that Auntie Nat?" The hand rubbed along Clint’s collarbone in a fist, the thumb tucked between middle- and ring-fingers to form an _N_.

"What?" Clint's eyes snapped open and he found himself staring at Cooper’s looming face. “Where?”

“On the TV,” Cooper answered. He pulled away and sat on the arm of the couch, clearing Clint’s view to the old box television tucked into its wooden cubby. The words 'breaking news' and 'special report' were scrolling across the screen overtop of the picture-in-picture shots of what looked like a highway overpass. Clint sat up slightly, propping himself on an elbow as he watched the TV screen intently.

He was only catching glimpses of her, a flash of red hair as she dashed behind a car, a familiar gait when she ran across the road, that sort of thing, but Cooper had definitely inherited Clint's eyes: that was Nat.

"LAURA!"

Laura came around the corner, holding her phone to her ear and making a "wtf" face at him. Clint just gestured expressively at the TV. She watched it for a few moments, then spoke into her phone.

"Sorry Alex, I'm going to have to call you back." 

She came around the couch, ruffling Cooper’s hair absently as she went.

"What’s going on?"

"Dunno. But that person hiding behind the car there? That's Nat. And that," Clint pointed at a figure running headlong with a painfully patriotic shield, "is Steve."

"And the flying guy?"

"No idea. I like his style, though."

Laura slowly lowered herself onto the couch beside Clint, staring at the television. The news anchor was saying that the footage being shown was captured the day before via a channel helicopter, but that the connection to the current situation had only just been uncovered.

"Current situation?" Laura glanced at Clint, who shrugged.

"I know noth--” He stopped mid-word as the image on the screen switched. 

"What--what is that?” Laura asked quietly, her eyes going wide.

"That," Clint replied, his voice wavering slightly, "looks like a beefed up SHIELD helicarrier falling out of the sky.”

“Oh,” Laura breathed out. “Oh god.”

“Fuck.”

“Dad!”

“Sorry, Cooper. Jesus Christ. What the f-- what is _happening_ right now?”

“I’ll call Nick.”

“No, not Fury,” Clint said almost absently, staring at the television. Laura paused, holding her phone open on the contacts screen. “He’ll be busy… Call someone lower down the totem pole. Uh. Sharon, maybe? Or Bobbi. I could try Sitwell, but it’d have to be from my phone. Or, hell, I think I have Pepper’s number? She might know what Natasha’s doing.”

“Cooper, go get your father’s phone. Kitchen counter.” Cooper nodded, wide-eyed, and took off.

"What the hell is happening?” Clint mumbled, eyes flicking over the picture on the screen. “Holy shit.” Laura squeezed his hand.

Cooper returned with the phone, handing it to Clint as he slid to sit on the rug by Laura's knee. There was a lone unread text message from Nat (well, from an unknown number, but it was in his and Nat's cipher, so), about twelve hours old, that read ‘ _might be out of contact for a while, shit's going down_ ,’ which was singularly unhelpful in the most Nat way possible. Shaking his head ruefully, Clint tapped out a mass message to everyone he could think of that might have any idea what was going on.

Almost immediately after he hit 'SEND’, the phone rang in his hand, loud and obnoxious and unignorable. _Tony Stark_ , the display read.

Cooper froze, eyes shifting between his parents.

“Take Lila into the den, Cooper,” Clint said, heaving himself up into more of a sitting position and muting the TV with the remote. “Play quietly.”

“But Dad--”

“Now, Cooper.” Laura peeled Lila from her leg, where she’d been clinging in reaction to the underscored tension in the room, and brushed a finger down her chubby cheek. “You know what that ringtone means.”

Cooper sighed. “Whoever it is, they don’t know about us.”

“And we’d like to keep it that way.” Clint raised his eyebrows at his son until he stood up, obvious reluctance in every movement, and lifted Lila awkwardly into his arms. “Thank you.”

Cooper just grunted and Laura met Clint’s eyes with a faint exasperated smile.

When Cooper had disappeared through the door, Clint finally answered the phone, putting it on speaker so Laura could hear.

“Hi Tony”

“Did you drop your phone in the toilet or something, Birdbrain?”

“What?”

“I call you just after you send me a text and it takes eleven rings to pick up.”

“I texted for a reason, Stark.” Clint rolled his eyes at Laura, who covered her smile with her hand. “I didn’t have my hearing aids in.”

“Oh.” Tony actually went quiet for a moment. “Well, that’s reasonable. Anyway, I have no idea what’s going on either.” 

Laura raised her eyebrows. “Wait, really?” Clint responded.

“Yeah, no idea. Pepper’s all in a tizzy because she knows that Scary Lying Needle Girl--” Clint made Nat’s namesign and Laura smiled wide, “--is all caught up in this and she hasn’t heard from her in a few days.”

“Yeah, me neither. Got a vague text from her last night, but that’s it.”

“Hmm. Are you still crippled?”

“Yeah, couch-bound and in a cast. Hence, I’m assuming, why I’m not also all caught up in this. I mean, it’s Nat and Steve and SHIELD from what I can see. Oh, and the dude with the wings, was that you?”

“I fly in a suit, Clint.”

Clint sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“No, those wings aren’t Stark. Look like T’challa’s work to me.”

“Huh, weird. JARVIS hasn’t been able to put anything together?”

“No, and that’s what’s bugging me about all this. The media isn’t being useful, that’s not unusual, but you know how JARVIS has a couple feelers in SHIELD’s network?”

“Yeah.” Clint shrugged at Laura’s startled look.

“According to the information he can glean, there’s _officially_ nothing going on.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. No alerts, no emails, no memos, no new ops involving Cap and Widow, no AARs suggesting Cap and Widow may have gone rogue--”

“Hey now.”

“-- there’s nothing. And since I’m pretty goddamn sure they haven’t picked up on JARVIS’ presence and are blocking his information, that means that either that’s not actually SHIELD’s helicarriers I’m seeing - which I know for a fact isn’t true because I helped with the design and that is definitely SHIELD - or SHIELD is somehow managing to be a part of a major incident without any digital trace.”

Clint took that in for a moment. “Or any trace is coded.”

“ _JARVIS_ is collecting this data, Barton.”

“I don’t mean digitally encrypted, I get that JARVIS could probably break those - which, by the way, Stark? Creepy as fuck. No, I mean literally _coded_. Like any use of the word ‘elevator’ in an email means ‘double-check IDs today, there’s a possible intruder’ or something.”

“That’s… a really good point.”

“I mean, it’s a goddamn _spy_ organization. We rarely say important things outright.”

“Okay, so I get JARVIS to find any uptick in particular word or phrase usage over the past seventy-two hours, then compared those keywords to word usage in the past to try and find some correlation in events, gotcha. Care to share any codes you know?”

“Double quotes in a subject line mean that the code word in a memo isn’t actually a code word - elevator means elevator. Other than that, I don’t know any that would be useful for this level of shit. I’m not that important a cog.”

“Damn. Okay, I’ll figure something out.”

“Let me know if you know anything? I’m losing my mind here.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you if something comes up. If you hear from Widow, ping Pepper? She’s pretty close to actually losing it and it’s not gonna be pleasant when that happens.”

“Can do. Talk you later, Tony.”

“ _Ciao, bello._ ”

Clint double checked that the call had ended before he turned to Laura. “Well, that was mostly useless.”

Laura was eyeing him oddly. “You realise you just helped an outsider get access to sensitive SHIELD info, right?”

“Yes, but Fury knows Tony has info access - it’s old news.” Clint shrugged, picking up the remote and turning on the closed captioning on the TV. “Since Tony very rarely _does_ anything with said info, it’s easier to let him think that the higher ups have no idea about his breach. Keeps him happy and stops him from developing hacks that are harder to trace. I’ll just report his code search tomorrow, or whenever this whole shitshow is over, and they’ll change the codes they use.”

Laura just stared at him.

“What? I don’t make these decisions.”

Shaking her head, Laura nudged his phone with a finger. “Anyone else you wanna try?”

Clint let out a breath. “I’ll text Nat and Fury, offer them our spare rooms to lay low in if they need it.” He glanced at Laura, who nodded in agreement. “Otherwise, we just have to wait.” He did not look happy about that.

“Welcome to my side of things, Bear.” Laura sat back against the arm of the couch, crossing her legs and turning her eyes to the TV screen. “It sucks.”

“It sure does, Bean.”

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t know you were married.”

Clint looked up from where he had Lila cradled on his chest, her head lolling slightly over his collar bone with every breath he took - she was getting too big for this, he thought sadly. He shifted in the armchair, some vague instinct to stand up in front of his commander bustling to the fore, but Steve waved him down and moved into the room to perch on the arm of the couch. His eyes were on Lila’s sleeping form. “Didn’t know you had kids, either.”

“No one did, really,” Clint responded in a low voice. “Nat, Coulson, Fury, Bobbi, Sharon - that’s it. All sworn to secrecy.”

“Why?”

Clint frowned. “Why? Why _not_? I dunno about you, Cap, but I trusted the majority of my coworkers about as far as I could throw ‘em _before_ half of them turned out to be Hydra, so, y’know, I’m kinda feeling validated.”

Steve drew a careful breath, looking pained, and Clint ran through an alphabet of swear words in his head, cussing himself out. “I suppose that makes sense, yes,” Steve finally said and Clint wilted a little.

“Pragmatic to the end, that’s me.”

Steve nodded. “I’m just surprised you kept it from us, is all. SHIELD is one thing, but the Avengers?”

“It’s hard to know who to trust, Cap. We don’t--” He shook his head. “It’s always been just the two of us--”

“And so we built our castle in the sky.” Laura finished, appearing out of the kitchen with far more silent a gait than most people that pregnant would have. Even Steve looked startled, Clint noted with amusement. “But it is _our_ castle, Captain. Clint keeping it a secret from you is no violation of any rule I’m aware of.”

Clint smiled. “And she knows the rules. Trust me.”

Steve returned his smile, nodding at Laura. “No, I know that. I’m not angry or anything - just surprised, is all. And a little astounded that none of us but Natasha knew. Tony’s pretty good at digging things up, y’know.”

“Only if they’re written down, Cap.”

“True. In that case,” Steve slanted a look at Laura, “can I safely assume that you’re the same Laura that Clint once had as his emergency contact? Surname ‘Rebane’, right?”

Laura smiled, biting her lip. “That’s me, yeah. Wait, who’s your current emergency contact?” She turned a sharp look on Clint.

“Uh. Nat?”

“Who will most likely be with you in whatever situation ends up requiring use of the emergency contact?”

A pause. “Yes?”

Laura huffed out an exasperated breath. “Well, Captain, I’m glad you all know about me now. The more people who are able to tell me if himself is hurt, the better. Hopefully you won’t just all end up in the hospital at once.”

Steve grinned, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Knock on wood.”

“Knock on wood,” Laura echoed, smiling. “It’s not necessarily that we didn’t trust you, Captain. It’s just that we’re--” she stopped, glanced at Clint.

“Protective,” Clint said.

“Connected,” Laura added.

“And through everything, well, it’s been just the two of us,” Clint finished, winking at Laura.

“And you thought you could do it if you tried?” Steve filled in, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

Laura cleared her throat delicately, covering a laugh. Clint just winced.

“I think I get it,” Steve said after a moment, giving Clint a pointed look. “You keep what’s precious to you close to your chest.” Clint chuckled and cupped a hand to the back of Lila’s skull. 

“Something like that.”

Steve stood up from the couch, rolling his shoulders. “I’m going to go check if everyone’s found a bed. Thanks again for offering us refuge, Laura, Clint. It’s really very appreciated. Goodnight.”

And he walked off, whistling the first few notes of a decidedly familiar tune.

Clint groaned quietly, lifting a hand to stroke Lila’s back when she scrunched up her face and shifted slightly. “Damn. I figured he wouldn’t recognize the lyrics,” he said to Laura, who just looked amused. “He’s gonna tease me something fierce.”

“What did you expect? He’s got an almost eidetic memory and has been awake for years now,” she said in response, raking a hand through his hair.

“I knowwww,” Clint whined, eliciting a giggled “shh” from Laura. She tapped his nose with a finger, then followed it with a kiss.

“Come up to bed? Unless you feel like spending the night in the armchair with a five year old slowly smothering you, which is an option, you’re an adult, that’s a choice you can make.”

“Ugh, no thanks. I’d love to be horizontal right now.” Clint held Lila to his chest with one arm and took Laura’s proffered hand with his other, heaving himself out of the chair with a sharp pull. “She’s getting heavy, Bean.”

“She’s getting older, Bear.”

Clint sighed and shifted Lila’s weight in his arms. “Yeah, she is.” Lila's whuffing breath grew slightly louder as she nuzzled into her father. “So am I, y’know?”

Laura tucked a strand of Lila’s hair behind her ear. “You are.”

“Maybe too old?” He flicked his eyes to her, then back down to Lila.

“Too old for what?”

Clint sighed. “Gonna make me actually say it, aren’t you?” Laura just smiled at him knowingly and he stuck his tongue out at her. “Too old for active agent status. Too old for the Avengers. Too old and too much of a dad, really.”

Laura gently cupped his jaw with her hand. “How long you been thinking like this?” When he nodded at her belly, her eyes softened. “Bear…”

Clint shrugged, pressing a kiss to Lila’s hair. “I’m getting tired, Bean. And both the stakes and the risks are higher now than they were just a few years ago. Evil AI robots and superhumans and Nazis and _aliens_ \--” Laura squeezed his arm when his voice broke, kissing the ball of his shoulder. “And it’s just too much for my forty-some years body, I think.”

“Forty- _some_ ,” Laura murmured, smiling.

“Shh, you.”

“When were you going to tell them?”

“After this all this Ultron nonsense, probably. Better sooner than later.”

Laura nodded slowly. "If you're sure.”

Clint leaned over to rest his forehead against Laura's, closing his eyes. "I'm sure.”

"Okay then.” Laura bopped their noses together. "I love you, Bear.”

"Love you, Bean.”

“Let's go to bed, yeah? Lots to do before you retire, if what you say about this robot-thing is right.”

Clint grunted. "If anything, I was understating the situation.”

"Then you definitely need some sleep.”

They pulled apart and puttered through the last of the chores, Clint flicking off lights with his elbow and Laura setting the alarms in the kitchen. When they went up the stairs, Lila snuffling quietly against Clint’s shoulder, they were hand in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, I feel like I’ve given birth. Mentally.
> 
> I’m aware that Lucky’s at least like 15 years old the last time we see him - just pretend that golden retrievers live that long on the regular, okay? I didn’t want to have to write his death, even in passing. :(
> 
> I’m looking for a beta, if anyone’s interested. I need someone to help me wrangle commas (so many commas) and solidify plots.
> 
>  **Warnings:** There is a scene where Laura is fleeing her abusive husband - no abuse happens within the narrative, but she mentions being physically accosted by him in the recent past and talks about his controlling behaviour briefly. There is a gun involved, but only at a distance and there is no life-threatening danger.
> 
> Both Clint and Laura say imperfect things about specific sexualities, both their own and others. Given how much creative license I’m taking with the availability of information on lesser known sexualities in the given timeframe, I think this is understandable.
> 
> There is a labour scene. The actual birth take place off stage, but if pregnancy freaks you out and you want to want to skip that bit: the scene starts with Clint's musings on paternity leave, then CTRL-F “straddling the apex” and you’ll have gone past it.


End file.
